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1.0 


IIM 
111 


I.I 


1^ 
*^  m 

ut 


12.5 
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1.25 


LA.  11.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WeST  MAIN  STRUT 

WIBSTIR.N.Y,  14S80 

(716)  S72-4S03 


^   ^^ 


2a 


0 


CIHM/ICMH 

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D 
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n 

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10X  14X  18X  22X 


12X 


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XI 


24X 


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aire 

I  details 
ues  du 
t  modifier 
ger  une 
t  filmage 


f 
i6es 


re 


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empreinte. 

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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


f  errata 
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It 

le  pelure, 

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n 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

\   '■ 


>^ 


u 


MOTHER  WEST'S 
V      NEIGHBORS 


#■» 


at 


^ 


MRS.  JANE  DUNBAR  CHAPLIN 


^ 


:^. 


vvoli; 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 

AMERICAN    TRACT    SOCIETY 

LOCKWOOD,  BROOKS,  AND  COMPANY 

381  Washington  St.,  Boston 

1876 


I  ijimM'waMUJu'-aB 


i'Jiii£fS'Jil^iiiMtMiMiBMa&' 


-luwi'jWBi  I   -  -- 


Copyright,  1876,  by 
Tmi  Ambkican  Tract  Socnrr. 


Donations  of  money  are  always  needed 
by  the  Society  to  be  used  in  distributing  Tracts. 
"  Freely  ye  have  received,  Freely  give." 


■irmSlOB,  CAMBIIDGBI 

STIRBOTVrSO    AND    miNTBD    BV 

H.  a   HOUGHTON  AND  COMrANV. 


l^ 

,'b^ 


v\ 


CONTENTS. 


ys  needed 
\g  Tracts. 


I.  GuPTiL  Alley 5 

II.  Beautiful  Tommy "7 

III.  Kitty  McCosh 26 

IV.  Mary  Lincoln 3^ 

V.  MAROAR'rr  Bell    ......  47 

VI.  Cousin  Gerald 59 

VII.  Mr.  Jessop 7i 

VIII.  PopR  Joy 8j 

IX.  Miss  Sibyl  Thorne 95 

X.  "  The  Mission  at  our  Door  "       .       .       .109 

XI.  Miss  Sibyl  and  Mrs.  Clapper  ...  121 

XII.  The  Landlord 130 

XIII.  Taking  Care  of  Themselves    ...  143 


»  i    .'.         Id 


^ 


h 


-fl  .yu:,w 


'j?*   ^ 


I'v. 


■  ■'-rr»^j!««a!iaeiMjM.','  •■,  i'V".  iW>rtiW'MiiiMWirffili'ttti"ai«ali>iaiai«^^ 


ttali 


PREFACE. 


THEY  are  grsatly  mistaken  who  imagine 
that  mission  work  in  our  cities  can  be 
done  only  by  the  rich,  who  can  win  hearts  and 
open  them  to  the  story  of  the  Cross,  by  their 
gifts. 

Indeed,  the  spirit  of  our  people  often  shrinks 
from  the  visits  of  those  whose  homes  contrast 
so  strongly  with  their  own,  and  rebel  against 
anything  that  seems  to  savor  of  patronage. 
They  may  doubt  the  possibility  of  those  who 
never  knew  a  want,  and  who  never  felt  the 
weight  of  a  frown,  entering  with  sympathy 
into  their  deep  poverty,  or  pitying  their  wai>- 
derings  from  the  straight  path. 

We  doubt  not  this  feeling  is  carried  too  £ar 
by  the  honorable  poor,  who  have  struggled 
vainly  for  honest  independence ;  but  there  it  ia. 


-i.aaaMsaa&'A'fgKiiaaogiifMiaiiigaa 


3  Preface. 

To  such  persons  the  most  welcome  visitor 
may  be  one  who  has  passed  through  the  same 
discipline,  and  who  comes  to  share  what  he  now 
has  with  them.  God  only  knows  the  holy 
work  wrought  in  the  garrets  and  cellars  of  our 
own  city  by  these  hidden  workers,  of  whom 
the  world  is  not  worthy  ! 

It  is,  however,  not  the  lack  of  gold,  any  more 
than  it  is  the  possession  of  it,  which  fits  the 
Christian  for  work  among  the  unfortunate  and 
erring.  A  rich  man  may  be  humble  and  pitiful, 
and  a  poor  one  may  be  proud  and  heartless  ;  it 
is  he  or  sh*^  who  goes  to  the  suffering  as  men 
to  men,  as  women  to  women,  those  who  live 
nearest  to  Christ,  who  will,  in  the  great  har- 
vest, bring  in  the  heaviest  sheaves  with  rejoic- 
ing. 

The  characters  and  scenes  in  this  little  book 
are  not  mere  fiction.  We  have  among  us  mis- 
sions, from  which  weary  toilers,  overburdened 
with  work,  are  calling  in  vain  for  helpers.  There 
are  dark,  damp  cellars,  where,  amid  foul  air  and 
often  fouler  moral  surroundings,  pale  little  chil- 


r"'  liiif^fiifiWf  ^gHirrtiftriffir 


Preface.  J 

dren,  with  immortal  souls,  are  wearing  away 
life,  or  growing  up  to  curse  the  generation  to 
come.  They  call  to  us  in  the  name  of  Him 
who  blessed  little  children,  to  come  and  save 
them. 

There  are  dens  of  vice  within  bell-sound 
of  our  most  elegant  mansions  and  churches, 
where  lights  glare,  and  where  the  viol,  attuned 
to  ribald  songs,  breaks  the  stillness  of  the  small 
hours  ;  where  the  ringing  glasses,  filled  to  the 
brim  with  death,  sound  like  the  clanking  of 
Satan's  chain ;  and  where  God's  name  is  ut- 
tered only  in  oath  and  curse. 

And  down  there,  among  the  shadows  of 
death,  noble  men  and  pure-heartM  women  are 
toiling  day  and  night  for  Christ,  with  very  few 
to  hold  up  their  hands,  or  to  give  them  even 
a  word  of  cheer. 

Here  then,  at  our  very  doors,  is  wofSsfpr  all 
who  lo  -e  to  work  with  Christ ;  a  broad  ^  esl 
waiting  for  laborers.  Here  the  most  dt.graa&d 
press  in  where  the  Gospel  is  preached,  and  in 
one  place  they  hang  round  the  Sunday-school, 


^m 

K':^ 


ff 


4  Preface. 

and  then  go  away  because  there  arc  not 
teachers  enough  to  lead  them  all  tc  Christ! 
This  is  in  Christian  Boston.  ^s 

If  every  church  in  our  city  would  send  one 
laborer,  man  or  woman,  rich  or  poor,  into  these 
missions  at  our  door,  the  districts  which  now 
fill  our  jails  and  prisons  would  soon  blossom 
as  the  rose,  with  purity  and  peace. 

We  all  know  what  Christ  has  done  for  us  ; 

what  are  we  now  doing  for  Him  ?     He  did  not 

scorn  to  breathe  out  His  pure  life  between  two 

thieves  ;  shall  we  scorn  to  spend  a  little  of  our 

leisure  and  a  little  of  our  substance  among 

those  who  are  far  fron  God  ? 

HiLLSiDK  AvKNUE,  Bostoit  Highlands, 

Mmh  7<#,  1876. 


mms^ 


arc  not 
'  Christ! 

send  one 

nto  these 

lich  now 

blossom 

e  for  us ; 
e  did  not 
ween  two 
:le  of  our 
e  among 


4 


MOTHER    WEST'S    NEIGHBORS. 


I. 


GUPTIL  ALLEY. 

A  CITY  pastor,  in  seeking  for  a  poor  par- 
ishioner one  bright  June  morning,  turned 
irto  a  narrow,  dark  "court,"  the  condition  o£ 
which  was  a  shame  to  any  Christian  commu- 
nity. Alas,  that  the  religion  of  so  many  leads 
them  to  seek  —  for  the  poor — bliss  in  heaven, 
without  any  reference  to  comfort  on  earth ! 

A  group  of  ragged  children  were  playing 
with  a  headless  doll,  on  a  door-step ;  another, 
of  larger  and  more  ragged  onei-,  were  kicking 
an  old  boot  about,  by  way  of  a  foot-ball,  and 
shouting  with  all  the  ardor  of  champions  in 
nobler  games  ;  neglected  little  babies,  wonder- 
ing what  they  had  ever  been  born  for,  were 
moaning  or  shrieking  within  doors ;  while  care- 
less mothers  were  leaning  idly  out  of  their  win- 
dows, chatting  with  and  cajoling  each  other,  aa 


6  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

if  there  were  neither  work  nor  want  in  the 

world. 

An  old  man  with  a  wooden  leg  sat  eating  his 
breakfast,  preparatory  to  making  his  morning 
raid  on  the  charitable,  who  bought  shoe-strings 
of  him,  because  he  needed,  but  did  not  ask  for, 
money. 

"Where  can  I  find  a  Mrs.  West  in  this  court, 
sir?"  asked  the  minister  of  the  shoe-string 
peddler. 

"A  Mrs.  Weston  ye  mean?  Do  she  hact 
the  beggar  in  the  theatre,  sir ;  and  'ave  she  a 
daughter  who  dance  there?  'Er  name  is  not 
Wef^t." 

"  No,  it  is  an  old  woman  who  has  been  in- 
jured by  a  fall  lately,  for  whom  I  am  looking." 

"Oh,  bless  yer  'eart,  sir,  I  know  who  ye 
want!  it's  the  hold  saint  that  we  calls  Mother 
Watson,'  because  she  live  with  'er  c'aughter,  — 
Jim's  wife,  you  know  ? " 

"I  never  heard  of  him,"  replied  the  minis- 
ter. 

"  Thank  'Eaven  for  that,  sir ! "  cried  the  old 
man,  catching  off  his  hat,  a  mark  of  respect  he 
had  not  thought  of  showing  his  poor  breakfast. 


'«««««>Aap«««<rMt;MnarM9<>c^'^ 


i 


mmmm 


mmmmr 


Guptil  Alley.  7 

"Jim  is  the  meanest,  hevilest,  and  unkindest 
man  alive,  sir ;  though  it 's  said  'e  war  once  a 
gentleman  like." 

V  "  Then  you  know  Mrs.  West,  do  you  ? "  asked 
the  minister. 

« 'Deed,  sir,  I  'ave  reason  to  know  'er !  She 
'ave  done  more  for  me  nor  'a"e  this  'ole  Chris- 
tian city  beside !  She  'elps  me,  she  smiles  on 
me,  she  pities  me  ;  and  \  'ave  my  surmises,  — 
'twixt  ye  and  me,  sir,  —  that  she  do  pray  God 
to  pity  and  bless  'er  poor  cripple  neighbor.  It 
seem,  sir,  as  hif  the  likes  o'  them  two  women 
ought  to  be  favored  o'  Heaven,  place  o'  bein' 
tormented  by  such  an  evil  one  as  Jim  Watson ! 
'E  drinks  and  'e  gambles  and  'e  leads  other 
men  into  them  same  evil  things.  If  them 
women  put  'im  up  every  time  'e  break  the 
law,  'e'd  spend  the  rest  o'  his  nat'ral  life  in  jail." 

"  Poor  women  1 "  sighed  the  minister. 

"  Well,  I  'm  not  so  sure  o'  that,  sir !  They  be 
so  lifted  above  hotbor  folk,  that  everybody  'ere 
henvies  them.  Fire  and  water  don't  usual  live 
together  in  peace,  nor  yet  do  angels  and  dev  — 
beg  yer  pardon,  sir,  them  bother  kind  I  mean, 
—  'bide  quiet  together.  But  that  old  woman 
she  do  live  'oly  among  sinners." 


8 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


"That  is  a  beautiful  testimony.    Now  please 

tell  me,  my  good  friend,  where  I  shall  find  her," 

*  asked  the  minister,  impatient  to  be  at  his  work, 

and  forgetting,  perhaps,  that  he  was  even  then 

at  work. 

"  Hup  there,  sir,  in  that  top  room,  over  there, 
where  you  see  the  flowers  and  the  vines  ;  see, 
«ir?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

"  WeU,  bpt  a  word  more  afore  ye  go,  —  maybe 
ye  don  y«.n  mow  all  about  Granny  Watson,  as 
wecuij    M.;s.  West.'"  ,,  >  >  . 

"   No.''  .^     .    ^         V4..-         '-,         f  .»    ,'V 

"  Well,  she  is  — but  la,  sir,  it  would  take  me 
a  week  to  tell  ye  what  she  is  !  In  a  word,  sir, 
she 's  an  angel  among  the  darkest  and  sorriest 
set  ye  ever  see.  ''"*'>  ye  think  the  Lord  do  some- 
times send  them  ones  down  here  in  the  form  o' 
humans  ? " 

"  He  gives  many  of  His  children  grace  to  live 
above  the  sin  around  them,  and  to  glorify  Him 
in  the  flames  of  poverty  and  sorrow." 

"  Aye,  'E  do  that  same  for  'er  —  the  Lord 
love  'er  !  But  I'm  'inderin'  both  myself  and  ye, 
sir ;  I  thank  ye  for  the  honor  o'  listening  so  pa- 


Guptil  Alley. 


ow  please 
find  her," 
his  work, 
vcn  then 

irer  there, 
nes  ;  see, 


—  maybe 
Watson,  as 


take  me 
word,  sir, 
1  sorriest 
.  do  some- 
le  form  o' 

ice  to  live 
rify  Him 

the  Lord 
If  and  ye, 
ng  so  pa- 


tient to  a  poor  shoe-string  peddler,  v.'ith  a  small 
supply  o'  brains." 
'^  \  4  And  he  clapped  on  his  old  hat  and  went  on 

with  the  business  before  him  —  eating  a  poor 
cold  breakfast. 

Stairs  are  among  the  sorrows  of  the  very 
poor,  and  the  good  minister  felt  it  when  he  had 
mounted  four  long  flights  in  search  of  his  old 
parishioner,  who,  although  her  name  had  stood 
for  years  on  the  church  book,  was  almost  a 
stranger  to  him.  She  had  neither  demanded 
nor  asked  attention  from  him  ;  and  therefore, 
in  the  pressure  of  work  and  care,  had  received 
none. 

The  entries  and  stairs  were  all  untidy  except 
the  last  flight  and  flat.  A  new  spirit  seemed  to 
reign  there  and  the  cloud  rose  from  the  good 
man's  heart  when  he  Heard  the  cheerful  "  Come 
in,"  of  the  old  lady,  in  answer  to  his  knock. 

The  room  was  a  barely  furnished  kitchen ; 
but  it  was  redolent  with  that  magic  power  called 
"  faculty,"  whereby  some  rare  women  turn  dens 
and  hovels  into  homes.  I'he  aged  woman  sat 
there  performing  some  light  task,  but  when  she 
saw  her  honored  visitor,  she  rose,  and  by  the 


iiiii 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

help  of  a  chair,  which  she  pushed  before  her, 
ushered  him  into  an  inner  room,  which  was 
her  own.  Such  taste  and  order  marked  the 
place,  that  he  forgot  the  surroundings,  —  un- 
consciously dropped  the  mingled  air  of  the 
pastor  and  the  patron,  and  assumed  that  of  the 
gentleman  in  the  drawing-room. 

He  had  often  grasped  the  hand  of  the  tall  old 
parishioner  in  the  poke  bonnet,  but  never  be- 
fore that  of  the  graceful  hostess,  who  now  made 
him  forget  her  garret,  her  rusty  gown,  and  her 
coarse  cap.  Often  had  he  felt  himself  among 
inferiors  when  in  the  gilded  homes  of  wealth  ; 
now  he  was  with  an  equal  in  a  garret,  at  the 
farther  en^  of  Guptil  Alley ! 

"  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  not  seeking  you 
out  before  ;  but  I  only  yesterday  heard  of  your 
being  laid  up,"  he  said. 

"  I  hope  you  were  with  those  more  dependent 
on  outside  comforters,  and  less  fortunate  than 
I,"  was  the  quiet  reply  of  Mother  West. 

The  minister  started,  and  involuntarily  looked 
about  him,  as  iE  to  ask, "  Who  is  less  fortunate?" 
but  there  was  lothing  to  contradict  her  words 
A  content.    A  breath  of  June  air  came  to  him 


■^■m^OKtuMmk 


IWi 


efore  her, 
rhich  was 
irked  the 
igs,  — un- 
lir  of  the 
hat  of  the 

he  tall  old 
never  be- 
now  made 
n,  and  her 
lelf  among 
of  wealth ; 
ret,  at  the 

:eking  you 
ird  of  your 

i  dependent 

unate  than 

/est. 

arily  looked 

fortunate?" 

:  her  words 

;ame  to  him 


■aa 


Gufti/  Alley. 


II 


over  the  flowers  in  the  window ;  and  a  row  of 
time-browned  volumes  smiled  on  him  from  a 
shelf  above  —  old  volumes  such  as  only  noble 
souls  enjoy,  —  Bunyan,  Rutherford,  Baxter,  Ed- 
wards, and  later  cues  of  like  spirit. 

The  minister  hardly  knew  how  to  begin  com- 
f  forting  her,  she  seemed  so  lifted  above  the  need 
of  his  ministrations.  So  he  asked  in  a  neigh- 
borly way,  "What  family  have  you,  xrlrs. 
West?" 

"I  have  only  one  child  living,  sir,  a  frail 
young  creature,  that  needs  just  the  confort  you 
could  give  her  if  she  were  only  here.  Some 
way,  my  words  fall  short  of  comforting  her. 
She  always  says, '  Oh,  mother,  you  are  so  far 
beyond  me  that  you  cannot  feel  my  weakness.' 
She's  seen  me  go  through  such  seas  without 
being  overwhelmed,  that  she  thinks  me  tem- 
pest-proof, poor  thing.'' 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  here,  Mrs. 
West  ? " 

"  Three  years,  sir.  Before  that  we  lived  in 
Weldon  Street,  in  quite  a  different  place. 
When  my  children  were  about  me  I  had  a 
lovely  little  home  in  the  country,  with  enough 


12 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


income  to  meet  all  reasonable  wants  and — 
but"  — 

"But  you  lost  it?" 

"Yes,  we  lost  it;  but  the  loss  was  small 
compared  with  the  circumstances  that  brought 
it  about,"  she  replied. 

Again  there  was  silence,  and  the  air,  laden 
with  perfume  from  the  flowers,  came  in  at  the 
window  again,  and  the  old  books  seemed  to 
smile  on  him. 

"  My  child  married  with  my  consent  and  my 
blessing,"  she  began,  "  and  I  placed  my  little 
property  in  her  husband's  hands  as  if  he  had 
been  my  own  son.     He  s-  ^--  grew  weary  of  a 
quiet  village,  sold  my  home,  and  brought  us  to 
the  city.     I  need  not  tell  you  the  sad  steps  by 
which  we  went  down,  after  we  found  out  how 
cruelly  we  had  been  deceived  by  him.     Here 
we  are  with  nothing  earthly  left  but  our  honor. 
My  daughter  goes  out  to  work  on  a  machine, 
for  she  will  not  eat  bread  earned  by  sin.    We 
pay  the  rent,  buy  our  food,  and  clothe  ourselves. 
My  son-in-law  comes  and  goes  when  he  pleases  ; 
and  we  do  all  we  can  to  make  a  cheerful  home 
for  him."  '^" 


ts  and — 


was  small 
,t  brought 

air,  laden 

in  at  the 

seemed  to 

it  and  my 
I  my  little 
if  he  had 
iveary  of  a 
ight  us  to 
I  steps  by 
1  out  how 
im.  Here 
our  honor. 
I  machine, 
Y  sin.  We 
;  ourselves, 
le  pleases ; 
erful  home 


Gufti/  Alley. 


13 


"  But  what  can  you  do,  —  so  old  and  feeble  ? " 
"  Oh,. sir,  I  've  had  deft  fingers  in  my  day,  and 
they  have  not  lost  all  their  cunning  yet !  While 
I  could  do  so  I  worked  on  '  ready-made  cloth- 
ing ; '  afterward  I  found  work  that  accomplished 
more  good  for  others,  if  not  so  much  for  my- 
scL  I  manage  to  do  our  little  work  here,  and 
when  that  is  done  I  mend  for  those  in  this  great 
house  who  cannot  or  will  not  do  it  for  them- 
selves. In  that  way  I  have  made  myself 
friendly  with  the  poor  things,  and  know  all 
their  hearts.  Those  who  can,  pay  me;  and 
those  who  cannot,  thank  me  and  love  me  for  it 
Oh,  sir,  this  humble  work  has  opened  strange 
stories  to  me,  and  given  me  ways  of  blessing 
others  I  should  never  have  had  without  it 
There 's  a  poor  old  Englishman,  a  cripple,  living 
in  the  alley,  and  struggling  bravely  to  earn  his 
bread ;  I  do  my  part  with  my  needle,  and  in 
gratitude  to  me  he  has  given  up  drinking  ale 
and  taking  the  name  of  God  in  vain.  He  has 
not  been  in  a  church  for  twenty  years,  and  is 
ashamed  to  go  alone  now.  But  if  I  am  ever 
able  to  walk  again,  I  hope  to  get  him  into  the 
house  of  God;  you  will  see  him  there  some 
day." 


■ui.B.j.i4.BH"ll.i,].IUilJiUlt.'.'^|l|„ 


14 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


Bsi 


"  But  in  all  this  struggle  does  your  son-in  law 
do  nothing  ?"  . 

"  Would  to  Heaven  he  simply  '  did  nothing,' 
sir.  He  has  a  place  in  this  alley  where  young 
men  meet,  and  drink  and  gamble  and  revile 
holy  things.  He  has  plenty  of  money  ;  and 
were  we  not  what  we  are,  by  birth  and  training 
and  the  g^ace  of  God,  we  might  fold  our  hands 
and  eat  the  bread  of  idleness  earned  by  sin. 
But  God  has  kept  us  above  that." 
..  "  Why  don't  you  both  leave  him,  and  live  at 
peace  by  your  own  work  ? "       f 

"  Because  he  has  a  soul,  sir.  He  is  my 
daughter's  husband,  and  she  cannot  give  him 
up  for  lost.  1  feel  that  perhaps  God  sent  him 
to  me  for  salvation.  It 's  a  hard  trial,  sir,  but 
only  suppose  that  at  last  I  should  be  able  to 
present  him  blameless  before  the  Father.' 
Is  n't  that  worth  trying  for  ?  Oh,  sir,  we  all 
do  too  little  to  save  those  who  are  far  below  us, 
—  the  drunkard,  the  gambler,  and  those  even 
viler  than  they  —  if  that  can  be.  Perhaps  we 
should  never  labor  for  such  if  we  were  not 
whipped  to  the  work  as  I  have  been.  We  have 
gone  down  step  by  step,  after  this  poor  young 


r/a 


mmm 


i 


mJk 


Guptil  Alley. 


n 


man,  and  have  managed,  thus  far,  to  keep  hold 
of  him  without  defiling  our  own  garments.  I 
expect  to  see  him  saved  yet,  sir,  as  I  have  seen 
others  around  me.  I  am  gathering  my  little 
harvest  in  this  hard,  stony  field.  If  you  will 
come  here  some  Monday  evening  I  will  show 
you  my  sheaves.  You  may  not  think  them 
very  comely  ones,  but  they  are  lovely  to  me 
and  to  Him  who  has  honored  my  work  among 
these  poor  neighbors.  I  have  one,  a  poor 
negro,  who  was  once  far  down,  but  now  the 
wisest  saint  I  know  might  be  glad  to  serve  him 
with  a  cup  of  cold  water ;  he  is  so  like  Christ ! 
I  have  had  a  cripple  boy,  a  heart-broken  wo- 
man, and  many  others  in  this  poor  court,  given 
to  me ;  and  of  late  I  have  had  visits  from  la- 
dies, asking  me  about  my  poor  neighbors,  and 
getting  counsel  and  help  in  their  charities. 
I  have  been  long  working  under  ground  ; 
but  I  begin  to  see  a  task  before  me  in  the 
light." 

While  the  minister  was   walking  home,  he . 
wondered  in  his  heart,  which  were  greatest  in 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  God's  more  public  ser- 
vants, honored  for  their  work's  sake,  and  sur- 


.ihliit  ^'•■•■ili' 


i6 


A  other  West's  Neighbors. 


rounded  by  strong  Christian  helpers,  or  these 
hidden  ones,  who,  like  Mother  West,  are 
"working  under  ground"  and  alone  for  the 
souls  Christ  came  to  save. 


,^.-  ,^,- 


or  these 

^est,  are 

for  the 


l! 


*"- 


BEAUTIFUL    TOMMY. 

MOTHER  WEST  had  never  presumed  to 
ask  a  visit — and  hardly  to  hope  for  one 
—  from  him  who  had  the  care  of  hundreds  of 
souls.  When  he  had  come  of  his  own  accord 
and  rejoiced  in  her  joys  and  entered  into  her 
sorrows,  it  seemed  as  if  an  angel  had  been  to 
her  poor  home,  and,  departing,  had  left  a  heav- 
enly influence  there.  The  flowers  looked 
fresher,  and  the  air,  which  swept  in  over  high 
chimneys  and  roofs,  seemed  purer  the  next 
day  ;  and  her  heart  was  strangely  lifted  above 
the  trials  which  so  often  caused  her  to  wonder 
at  God's  ways. 

Oh,  I  if  God's  ministers  only  knew  the  joy 
their  presence  gives  in  the  homes  of  the  poor, 
and  the  blessings  which  there  await  them- 
selves, they  would  not  so  readily  pass  such 
work  and  its  rewards  into  the  hands  of  lajr- 
helpers.  ( 


^  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

At  parting  with  his  parishioner  the  minister 
had  received  a  promise"  of  seeing  her  "  Beauti- 
ful Tcmmy"  the  next  time  he  came. 

And  now  he  was  mounting  those  many 
flights  of  stairs  again,  wifa  the  vague  image  of 
"  Beautiful  Tommy  "  before  him  —  a  fair,  pale 
child  with  pearly  complexion  and  sunny  hair  ; 
such  a  flower  as  now  and  then  springs  up  and 
struggles  on  —  seeming  strangely  out  of  place 
—  amid  poverty,  coarseness,  and  sin.  But  it 
was  no  such  fairy-like  creature  that  met  his 
■eyes  as  he  entered  the  room.  "Beautiful 
Tommy "  was  a  short,  stumpy  colored  man, 
whose  crisp  locks  were  already  white  around 
his  temples.  He  sat  by  a  table,  pointing  out 
his  letters  with  a  knitting-needle  and  calling 
them  aloud. 

"  Tommy,  close  the  book.  Here 's  the  dear 
minister,"  said  Mother  West. 

Tommy  had  no  idea  of  losing  his  place  when 
■it  was  so  hard  to  find  again ;  so  he  tore  a  bit 
from  the  margin  of  a  paper  lying  by  him,  and 
placed  it  between  the  leaves.  Then  he  turned 
round  and  with  a  low  bow  said,  "I've  heerd 
you  preach  forty  time,  sir,  but  I  never  'spected 


.'I^A*r*-ia-.-m*<rf.a»t.'--*»'<t*WJ!'4*aMiftt'--.--^.-< 


Beautiful  Tommy. 


«9 


iie  minister 
jr  "  Beauti- 

lose  many 
le  image  of 
a  fair,  pale 
unny  hair  ; 
ngs  up  and 
>ut  of  place 
in.  But  it 
at  met  his 
"  Beautiful 
lored  man, 
lite  around 
ointing  out 
and  calling 

's  the  dear 

place  when 
!  tore  a  bit 
)y  him,  and 
I  he  turned 
I've  heerd 
^er  'spected 


to  grasp  your  hand!      I's  mighty  honored, 
sir ! " 

"  But  if  you  've  been  to  my  church  so  often, 
how  comes  it  that  I  've  never  seen  you,  my 
friend  ? "  asked  the  minister  kindly. 

"  Oh,  sir,  it 's  bekase  I  keeps  out  o'  sight  — 
pretty  gineral  —  to  the  f  urder  end  o'  the  orgin, 
and  kind  o'  behind  it ;  and  I  thought  de  rich 
ones  would  n't  be  pleased  fer  to  see  me  dar." 

"But  they  would  be,  and  so  would  I,  my 
friend,"  said  the  minister. 

"  The  saxtant  told  me  they  had  gi'n  heaps  o' 
money  for  the  col'd  folks  to  have  a  church  o' 
their  own,  and  now  they  'spected  'em  to  keep 
to  it.  I  went  dar,  but  somehow  'noder  de  Lord 
didn't  speak  through  dat  bruder,  as  He  did 
through  you,  to  my  soul." 

"  And  have  you  got  good  to  your  soul  there, 
Tommy?"  ^  v-f 

"  Got  good  to  my  soul,  sir  ?  yes,  and  to  my 
body  too.  I  don't  guess  your  people  knows 
what 's  been  in  dat  ar'  church,  like  I  does. 
Mrs.  West,  she  says  it 's  'de  gate  o'  heaven'  to 
her  soul ;  but  I  tells  her  it's  been  heaven  itself 
to  mine ! " 


I- 


a^  Motk^  Wtffs  Neighbors. 

By  this  time  Tommy  had  forgotten  the 
weight  of  honor  with  which  this  visit  had  at 
first  oppressed  him;  and  rising  up  he  ex-  ' 
claimed,  "  Oh,  sir,  if  I  could  only  once  stan'  up 
in  dat  ar'  pulpit  and  tell  'em  what  I 's  seen  dar 
when  dey  was  fannin*  deirsel's  and  shaking  deir 
jewl'ry  'bout  and  yawnin',  they  would  be 
•mazed  !  Oh,  sir,  God  comes  powerful  mighty 
into  His  own  house." 

"Tommy,"  said  Mrs.  West,  "the  minister 
came  on  purpose  to  talk  to  you  to-night.  Now 
you  must  listen." 

«  No,  Mrs.  West,  I  came  to  hear  him  talk ; " 
said  the  good  man.  "  Now  sit  down,  Tommy, 
and  tell  me  who  you  are  and  all  about  the  glory 
you  have  seen." 

Thus  lar  the  good  man  had  been  standing ; 
but  Mrs.  West  offered  him  the  only  large  chair 
in  the  room— one  covered  with  a  gay  chintz, 
with  a  snowy  towel  pinned  neatly  over  the 

back  of  it 

"  Dat  ar  napkin  was  put  on  clean  for  you  — 
like  givin'  a  cup  o*  cold  water,  you  know." 

The  minister  smiled  and  sat  down.  "  Now, 
Tommy,  let  me  hear  your  story,"  he  said. 


ii 


i_ 


Beaut tful  Tommy 


21 


gotten  the 
;isit  had  at 
up  he  ex- 
kce  Stan'  up 
's  seen  dar 
baking  deir 
would  be 
rful  mighty 

le  minister 
light.    Now 

him  talk;" 
^n,  Tommy, 
ut  the  glory 

n  standing; 

r  large  chair 

gay  chintz, 

y  over  the 

n  for  you  — 
know." 
vn.    "  Now, 
e  said. 


"  Well,  sir,  I  was  horned  in  slavery  as  you 
may  s«;e  by  my  ignorance ;  and  I  was  horned 
in  sin  too.  I  don't  'member  no  fader,  no 
mammy  ;  but  only  de  folks  in  de  kitchen  and 
massa's  people  in  de  big  house.  Some  of  de 
black  folks  prayed,  and  some  on  'em  swared  ; 
and  some  agin,  did  both,  —  as  de  'casion  re- 
quired. But  massa  he  was  an  awful  sinner; 
and  so  was  the  young  gent'men!  Dey  used 
teach  de  little  black  chil'n  to  chaw  tobaccy  and 
to  swar'  and  to  lie ;  and  used  to  give  us  boys 
brandy  till  we  made  fools  of  oursel's  for  deir 
sport ! 

"  So  I  growed  up.  I  had  a  powerful  sperit 
in  me ;  and  massa  said,  one  time,  dat  he'd  break 
either  my  will  or  my  neck.  But  he  didn't 
donather!  I  runned  off  and  come  North, — 
as  big  a  heathen  as  grows  aWay  ofiE  in  them 
foreign  places.] 

"I  thought  everybody  was  agin  me  here, 
and  watchin'  a  chance  to  send  me  back  to  my 
massa  I  was  afeared  o'  policemen  and  of 
everybody  with  good  clothes  on ;  so  I  begged 
of  beggars,  and  slept  under  carts  —  and  such 
like,  and  now  and  then  picked  up  a  job. 


^1: 


33 


Mother  Wesis  Neighbors. 


"  One  day  a  child  hailed  me,  and  axed  me 
did  I  want  to  lug  a  ton  of  coal  up  four  flights 
o'  stairs  ;  and  dat  ar  coal,  sir,  was  dis  blessed 
lady's  I  And  it  was  de  preciousest  load  ever  I 
lugged!  It  was  mighty  hard  afore  I  got 
through,  special'  as  I  had  n't  had  no  breakfast 
on'y  a  doughnut  and  an  apple.  I  axed  her 
mought  I  sit  down  on  de  stairs  and  rest  a  bit, 
kase  I  was  faint  She  said, '  Come  in  here  and 
sit  down,  and  drink  some  hot  coffee  and  eat  a 
good  breakfast  and  rest  long 's  you  want  to." 

" '  How  much  will  you  ax  me  ? '  says  I. 

" '  Nothin','  says  she.  * 

" '  Who  '11  pay  you  for 't,  then  ? '  says  I. 

" '  Our  Fader  in  Heaven,  what  feeds  the  ra- 
vens,' says  she. 

" '  Missus,  you 's  foolin' ! '  says  I. 

•"No,  bruder,  I  isn't,'  says  she.  'You 
look  sick  and  tired.  De  Lor*  has  sent  me 
enough  and  more  than  enough  for  dis  day's 
bread  ;  and  I  '11  share  it  wid  you  for  His  sake.' 

" '  For  whose  sake  ? '  says  I. 

" '  Why,  for  Christ's  sake,'  says  she. 

" '  Oh  phoo ! '  says  I.  '  I'se  heard  lots  o* 
pra'rs  wound  up,  "  for  Christ's  sake  ; "  but  I 
never  seen  nothin'  done  for  His  sake.' 


mi 


MM 


aww- 


Beautiful  Tommy. 


23 


\ 


1  axed  me 
our  flights 
lis  blessed 
load  ever  I 
ore  I  got 
>  breakfast 
axed  her 
rest  a  bit, 
p  here  and 
:  and  eat  a 
irant  to.' 
lys  I. 

ays  I. 

eds  the  ra- 


he.  •  You 
IS  sent  me 
r  dis  day's 
r  His  sake.' 

le. 

ird  lots    o* 


e; 
e.' 


but  I 


"  *  Do  you  love  Him  ?  *  says  she. 
•* '  I  ain't  acquainted  with  Him,'  says  I. 
" '  Poor,  dear  soul  I '  says  she,  as  tender  as  if 
I  was  a  sick  baby.    I  looked  at  her,  sir,  and  I 
thought  her  face  was  shinin'  like  silver !    By 
dis  time  she  had  spread  a  white  cloth  on  dis 
'ere  table,  and  put  bread  and  meat  and  coffee 
on  to  it    She  axed  me  to  sit  by,  and  she  sat 
down  too  and  axed  de  Lord  to  give  me  daily 
bread,  every  day  ;  and  to  give  me  de  bread  o* 
heaven,  too.    I  tell  you,  sir,  I  was  n't  half  so 
wicked  when  I  got  dat  breakfast  eat  up !    I 
was  ready  to  hear  'bout  God,  as  I  was  n't  wid 
that  awful  gnawin'  inside  o'  me  I 

"  Well,  sir,  she  got  a  chance  for  me  to  live  in 
dis  yere  cellar  kitchen.    And  then  she  got  job* 
for  me.     She  began  to  teach  me  to  read  ;  and 
she  got  me  warm  clothes  — dat  was  winter 
time  — and    mor'n  dat  she    alius  called   me 
'friend'  or  'bruder.'    Every  time  I  looked  at 
her,  or  'membered  of  her,  I  thought  o'  her 
words  — 'for  Christ's  sake;'  and  soon  I  be- 
gun to  think  dis  yere  Christ  was  worth  lookin* 
arter!    And  I  looked  arter  Him.    I  sarchcd 
for  Him  in  de   dark;  and  by'm-by  I  found 


I 


M 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


Him  ;  and  here  I  is  to-night,  sir,  Happy  Tom  ! 
I  would  n't  change  places  wid  old  massa  as  he 
was  afore  de  war ;  but  if  I  knowed  whar'  to 
find  him  and  de  young  gent'men  I'd  walk 
down  to  Nor'  Ca'liny,  and  I  take  'em  all  in  my 
arms  and  carry  'em  to  Jesus.  I  love  de  whole 
wori',  sir,  wid  such  love  dat  it  'pears  like  I 
would  n't  go  to  heaven  widout  takin'  dem  all 
long  wid  me  I " 

"Tell  the  minister  where  you  first  found 
Christ,  Tommy,"  said  his  patron, 

"  In  your  great  church,  sir.     I  'd  been  many 

days  a  sarchin'  for  Him,  and  cryin'  for  Him, 

when  one  Sunday  mornin'  I  crep'  in   by  de 

oigin  and  yur  preached,  *  He  is  nigh  unto  every 

one  o'  you.'    And  just  at  dat  minute  'peared 

like  de  roof  was  lifted  off,  and  I  see  Him  com- 

in'  down  in  de  clouds.     He  come  and  stood  by 

side  o'  me,  and  I  was  in  heaven,  sir  I    I  looked 

down  and  see  de  gran'  folks  all  calm  — like  jis 

as  if  nothin'  had  happened.    Dey  fanned  and 

yawned  and  shuk  deir  ear-rings,  and  did  n't 

know  Christ  was  dar  I    I  did  n't  hear  no  more 

dat  you  say,  dat  day;  but  when  de  church 

broke  up,  I  come  home,  like  I  had  company  all 

de  time  by  my  side." 


•acmm 


Beautiful  Tommy. 


25 


"And  ever  since  that  day,  sir,  he  has  beeii 
doing  something  'for  Christ's  sake.'  Not  a 
day  passes  but  he  lugs  up  coal,  or  brings  water, 
or  tends  a  baby  for  a  tired  mother,  or  gives 
food  to  the  needy.  If  every  one  who  names 
the  name  of  Christ  did  as  much  in  proportion 
to  his  ability  as  Tommy  does,  there  would  soon 
be  no  poverty  in  the  world.  I  've  learned,  and 
am  still  learning  sweet  lessons  from  him. 
Strangers  round  here  call  him  '  Black  Tom ; ' 
but  I  call  him  '  My  beautiful  Tonrimy ; '  and  I 
know  he  is  beautiful  in  the  eye  of  Him  who 
has  redeemed  him  and  set  His  seal  upon  him." 


f 


i 


4 


nil 


■,:.'■:  .^    ■•  III.  -  ,  . 

KITTY   MCCOSH. 

AT  ANY  whose  lot  has  been  cast  on  the 
•*■"■*•  flower-clad  hills  of  life,  imagine  that  all 
in  the  valleys  below  them  is  misery,  gloom, 
and  discontent ;  that  peace  never  lurkS  among 
shadows,  nor  joy  ariong  the  mists.  But  this 
b  not  so.  God  giveth  to  all  men  liberally. 
His  refreshing  rains  and  His  life-giving  sun- 
beams pierce  the  clouds  of  poverty  and  feeble- 
ness ;  and  light  up  many  a  poor  home,  which 
to  the  charitable  visitor  s<:ems  devoid  of  all 
comfort  The  cases  are  very  rare  where  life 
has  no  present  joy,  no  alluring  hope. 

Across  the  end  of  Guptil  Alley  were  three 
houses  whose  doors  opened  directly  from  the 
brick  sidewalk,  and  were  protected  from  the 
invasion  of  horses  by  a  rude  railing,  a  few  feet 
from  the  front  windows.  This  railing  had  its 
disadvantages.  The  boys  turned  somersaults 
over  it,  and  idle  young  men  perched  there  to 


Kitty  McCosh. 


97 


chat  and  smoke,  when  doing  nothing  worse. 
And  such  visitors  did  not  add  to  the  cleanli- 
ness of  the  premises.  Tobacco  juice,  peanut 
shells,  pop-corn  papers,  and  the  like  were  scat- 
tered there  daily,  and  left  to  accumulate  before 
most  of  the  doors.  Every  evening  one  walk 
was  swept  and  garnished  by  the  plump  little 
hands  of  Kitty  M'Cosh,  who  said,  every  time 
she  assailed  it  with  a  broom  and  water,  "  If  I 
must  be'poor,  I  will  be  clean." 

Kitty's  father  and  mother  had  lived  up-stairs 
in  this  house  till  the  death  of  the  latter. 
When  the  humble  funeral  was  over,  and  Willie 
returned  with  his  little  girl  to  the  lonesome 
room,  he  sat  down  to  review  the  past  and  to 
face  the  future.  He  remembered  his  early 
teachings  in  the  village  kirk  among  the  Scot- 
tish hills,  and  at  his  mother's  knee  in  the  poor, 
turf-covered  cottage ;  he  thought  of  all  his 
wanderings  from  God  since  then,  and  of  the 
sorrow  he  had  brought  on  her  who  had  left  a 
happy  home  and  r.!ienated  herself  from  her 
family  to  follow  him  over  the  sea. 

Taking  Kitty  by  the  hand  he  went  down- 
8t!urs   and  into  the  room  of    "  a  lone  body 


■BS 


28 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


named  Mistress  Hunter,"  who  had  been  his 
wife's  kindest  neighbor. 

"  Here,  neebor,"  he  said,  "  is  Kitty  for  ye ; 
the  best  and  dearest  thing  I  ha'  in  the  world. 
It 's  na  fit  that  she  live  wi'  me  and  see  the 
company  that  may  gather  round  me  now  Bes- 
sie 's  gone.  Keep  her  and  I  '11  do  right  in  the 
futur',  and  pay  yer  rent  every  Saturday  night" 

This  was  not  a  princely  offer;  but  Susan 
Hunter  was  a  lonely  woman  ;  so  she  Accepted 
the  charge  gladly. 

Willie  had  now  forgotten  his  vows  to  "  do 
right  in  the  futur*,  but  he  had  always  paid  Mrs. 
Hunter's  rent,  and  taken  tea  with  the  child  on 
Sunday. 

Kitty  had  come  up  with  the  neat  ways  of  her 
protector,  and  was  now  a  light-hearted,  buxom 
little  girl,  the  nurse  of  all  the  neglected  babies, 
and  the  patron  of  the  older  children  in  the 
alley.  Even  the  big  boys  used  to  come  to  her 
to  settle  their  disputed  right,  to  complain  when 
they  were  called  hard  names,  or  got  a  blow  or 
a  kick  from  an  unruly  playmate. 

She  usually  opened  court  on  these  occasions 
by  saying  to  the  complainant,  "  Go  wash  your 


ft 


Kitty  McCosh.  tg 

face  and  hands,  and  then  I'll  talk  to  you;" 
and  they  always  obeyed  her,  even  when  they 
had  to  borrow  soap  and  towel  from  her. 

It  had  never  entered  Kitty's  head  that  she 
was  an  unfortunate  child,  when  at  the  age  of 
thirteen  she  began  to  earn  her  own  clothes,  by 
sewing  porcelain  buttons  on  to  cards,  as  sold 
in  the  stores.  She  formed  a  score  of  bright 
plans  for  spending  her  first  "  lovely  new  dollar 
bill,"  but  she  cheerfully  yielded  them  up  when 
Mrs.  Hunter  reminded  her  that  she  would  soon 
need  a  warm  cloak  and  stout  shoes. 

Kitty  had  begun  to  attend  Mother  West's 
meetings  ;  and  one  night  "  Black  Tommy,"  in 
trying  to  describe  the  chorus  of  heaven,  had 
made  this  remark:  "Anybody  dat  goes  up 
from  Guptil  Alley  to  de  Fader's  house  on 
high  won't  know  deirsel's,  it. '11  be  so  clean  up 
dai-l  No  mud,  no  rubbish,  no  litter,  no  bad 
smells  ;  it  will  alius  be  swep'  clean  and  dusted ; 
and  de  shinin'  gates  and  de  golden  streets  will 
be  kep'  polished  all  de  time  !  And  only  dem 
dat  love  holy  and  clean  t'ings  will  be  let  in! 
So  if  you  wants  to  be  happy  where  you  got  to 
keep  fixed  up,  you  best  begin  right  smart  here, 


■IV 


"r.'i.""""""^'' 


30 


Mother  Wests  Neighbor. 


before,  to  be  tidy-like,  same 's  you  see  here,  and 
in  Missey  Hunter's  room  ;  my  place  is  too 
poor  to  talk  'bout,  but  I  keeps  it  right  smart 
to  de  eye  of  the  Massa  who  visits  me  all 
times." 

"  I  'm  going  to  clean  up  this  alley  and  keep 
it  clean ! "  cried  Kitty,  as  she  and  Mrs.  Hunter 
walked  up  to  their  own  door  «      sv^  '*■ 

"  It 's  no  use,  child ;  for  the  boys  would 
throw  old  vegetables  and  sticks  about  on  pur- 
pose to  tease  you,"  replied  the  good  woman. 

"Well,  I  mean  to  try  at  any  rate,"  said 
Kitty,  "for  if  God  and  the  good  folks  in  heaven 
look  down  in  here  it  must  seem  awful  to 
them ! " 

The  next  evening,  just  after  sunset,  she 
rolled  up  her  pink  "  pocket-apron,"  heavy  with 
buttons,  and  set  off  for  a  walk.  It  was  well 
she  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Hunter  her  plans,  or  they 
would  never  have  been  carried  out. 

Kitty,  dressed  in  her  best,  with  her  cheeks 
like  roses,  ran  up  the  high  steps  of  the  house 
where  the  landlord  lived,  rang  the  bell,  and 
asked  to  see  him.  Concluding  she  was  some 
lady's  errand  girl,  the  servant  showed  her  into 


said 


the  library  where  the  gentleman  was  sitting, 
reading  his  evening  paper. 

"  Well,  child  ? "  he  said,  when  he  saw  her  be- 
fore him. 

"  I  'm  Kitty  McCosh,  sir ; "  said  the  Uttie 
girl,  with  a  courtesy.        -.<        ^ 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  the  rich  man, 
smiling  at  her  innocence.  "  Now  tell  me  who 
Kitty  McCosh  is,  and  what  she  wants  here." 

"I'm  Willie  McCosh's  child,  that  lives  with 
Mrs.  Hunter,  18  Guptil  Alley.  You  own  the 
houses  there,  sir." 

« Oh,  do  I  ?  Well,  I  'm  glad  to  hear  that, 
too ;  for  sometimes  I  've  doubted  it,  I  get  so 
Uttle  rent  there.    Well,  Kitty,  what  is  it  ? " 

"  I  want  to  be  clean,  sir  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  You  are,  my  child,  as  clean  as  a  lily  ! " 
"  Well,  sir,  but  I  want  everybody  else  to  be 

clean,  too ! " 

"Then  you're  in  a  sad  place,  Kitty,  for  there 
are  very  few  in  Guptil  Alley  who  care  to  be 
neat.  I'm  ashamed  to  own  the  place,"  said 
thekndlord. 

"  But  you  've  surely  seen  one  neat  place,  sir, 
at  the  end  o'  the  alley  ? "  said  Kitty. 


jls 


WSf^A 


3a 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


"  Yes ;  and  I  've  thought  of  giving  a  pre- 
mium to  the  tenant  that  sets  such  a  good  ex- 
ample there." 

"  That 's  me,  please  sir  ! "  cried  Kitty,  with 
glowing  cheeks.  "  I  get  up  every  morning 
early,  and  sweep  and  wash  our  bit  o'  walk ;  and 
afore  night  I  sweep  it  again.  And  I  watch, 
and  scold  the  boys  ;  and  one  way  and  another 
I  keep  it  clean."    .,,..      >>   ;.,i. 

"  And  what  do  you  want  of  me,  child  ? " 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  keep  the  alley  clean, 
sir." 

"  Me  ?  what  can  I  do,  child  ? " 

"You  can  bid  them  all  be  neat,  and  tell 
them  they  shan't  stay  there  if  they  're  not." 

"  I  've  told  them  that  a  hundred  times,  and 
they  only  grow  worse," 

"Not  all  o'  them,  nir.  Think  o*  lonely 
Mother  West,  and  Mammy  Hunter,  and  black 
Tom  —  no,  'Beautiful  Tommy'  they  call  him 
now.  They  keep  neat  inside,  sir.  Mother 
West  gave  me  a  new  broom  and  pail  to  wash 
my  walk,  and  told  me  God  would  love  me  if  I 
tried  to  make  the  place  tidy.  And  He  '11  love 
you  if  you  help  me ! " 


ng  a  pre- 
i  good  ex- 

Litty,  with 
morning 

walk ;  and 
I  watch, 

d  another 

hild  ? " 
lley  clean, 


,  and  tell 
e  not." 
imes,  and 

o*  lonely 
and  black 
fr  call  him 
Mother 
.il  to  wash 
/e  me  if  I 
He  'U  love 


Kitty  McCosk. 


33 


"  Well,  Kitty,  I  '11  do  that ;  I  'U  make  you 
my  little  policeman  to  enforce  my  orders.  I'll 
give  you  five  dollars  now,  and  you  may  hire 
the  boys  to  help  you,  or  you  may  punish  them 
in.  some  way  for  hindering  your  work." 

"  Five  dollars,  sir !  Why,  I  'm  afraid  to  go 
through  the  street  with  that,  lest  I  be  robbed!" 
cried  Kitty. 

"  What  will  you  do  first,  my  child  ? " 

"  First,  sir  ?  Oh,  I  '11  pray  first  that  God 
would  help  me.  Then  I  '11  go  to  work,  and  I 
know  the  big  boys  will  help  me." 

"  Well,  go  then,  child ;  and  come  back  in  a 
week  and  tell  me  how  you  succeed.     Good-by." 

With  her  five  dollar  bill  grasped  in  her 
hand,  she  rushed  through  the  streets  as  if  all 
the  highwaymen  in  the  city  were  at  her  heels. 

It  was  a  moonlight  night,  and  the  alley  boys 
were  entertaining  themselves  by  playing  and 
hiding  behind  ash-barrels  and  tip-carts. 

"  Come,  boys,  run  for  your  sisters,  and  bring 

all  the  brooms,  and  shovels,  and  pails  you  can 

.find.     I  'm  going  to  clean  the  alley,  and  keep  it 

clean  ;  and  I  want  your  help.    When  it 's  done 

I  'U  have  a  '  party '  in  my  room ;  and  if  we  can 

3 


'SSBXimStJ^K 


I 


34 


Motker  Wests  Neighbors. 


keep  it  clean,  I  'U  have  a  party  every  month. 
Every  one  that  helps,  and  that  don't  spit  or 
throw  nutshells,  and  old  cabbage-leaves,  and 
fish-bones  about,  and  will  dress  up  clean,  shall 

come  to  it" 

It  was  a  sight  to  bless  the  eyes  of  philan- 
thropists, when  Kitty  had  marshaled  her  force 
and  got  them  into  working  order.     She  armed 
herself    with  a    hoe  and    attacked  the  scat- 
tered  rubbish,   drawing    it    into    a    heap  for 
Tom   Bolt  to  shovel  into   his   wheelbarrow  ; 
while  .^ther  boys  shoveled  and  hoed,  and  the 
girls  swept    in  all   directions,  laughing    and 
whistling.     Men  and  women  looked  from  doors 
and  windows  in  amazement  at  "  children  wea- 
rying themselves  at  such  useless  work,"  and 
called  out,  "  ^A^o  bid    you  do  that,  simple 

things  ? " 

"Kitty  McCosh  is  tryin'  to  make  our  'alley 
look  like  heaven  above,'"  cried  a  boy  ;  "and 
we  are  helpin'  her  so  to  get  a  party,  with  nuts 
and  apples." 

Here  Beautiful  Tommy  appeared  on  the 
scene  of  acti'>ii  -  di  his  shovel  and  wheelbar- 
row; then  i.ov.  ^  ^  man  came  out,  offering  to 
help  also. 


"^mak.. 


ry  month, 
i't  spit  or 
:aves,  and 
:lean,  shall 

of  philan- 
l  her  force 
She  armed 
the  scat- 
heap  for 
eelbarrow  ; 
:d,  and  the 
ghing    and 
from  doors 
ildren  wea- 
work,"  and 
hat,  simple 

i  our '  alley 
boy  ;  "  and 
f,  with  nuts 

red  on  the 
td  wheelbar- 
,  offering  to 


Kitty  McCosk. 


35 


By  nine  o'clock,  although  Guptil  Alley  fell 
far  short  of  our  ideas  of  heavenly  purity,  it 
looked  like  a  new  place.  The  ash-man  had 
ten  times  his  usual  load  from  there  next  day ; 
and  the  women  all  set  to  work,  washing  their 
doors  and  windows.  The  landlord  heard  the 
news  and  called  on  Kitty ;  he  praised  the  neat- 
ness of  the  pluce  and  promised  a  monthly 
"party"  to  the  children  as  long  as  they  would 
keep  it  in  order. 

Kitty  thanked  God  that  night  for  what  He 
had  helped  her  to  do ;  and  the  next  day  she 
told  "  Beautiful  Tommy "  that  all  this  came 
from  the  sermon  he  preached  about  heaven,  at 
Mother  West's  meeting.  And  Kitty  was  hap- 
pier than  many  a  petted  child  who  knows  not 
how  to  pass  the  weaty  hours.  \ 


r 


t* .. 


IV. 


MARY  LINCOLN. 


<( 


A  RE  you  perfectly  sure  there 's  a  heaven, 
^^'  mother?"   asked  a  sick    young  girl, 

with  the  hot  roses  burning  on  her  cheeks. 
"Of  course,  my  darling,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  If  not,  where  would  people  go  when  they  die  ? 

And  then  the  Bible,  which  is  all  true,  tell  us 

80." 

"  I  never  saw  it  in  the  Bible,  mother.  It  is 
not  in  the  ten  commandments,  I  know,"  re- 
idied  the  young  girl. 

"  Perhaps  «ot,  my  love,"  answered  this  culti* 
vated  heathen;  "but  it  is  somewhere  in  the 
Book."  ;  . 

"  And  will  everybody  in  the  world  go  there 
after  death?" 

"  Low  and  wicked  people,  who  kill  and  steal, 
ougAt  not  to  go  to  such  a  beautiful  place  ;  but 
all  respectable  and  good  folk  will ;  why  should 
they  not  ? " 


lumium^jjjMiiiumjij  — 


s  a  heaven, 
raung  girl, 
iieeks. 
1  the  lady. 
1  they  die  ? 
ue,  tell  us 

her.  It  is 
know,"  re- 

this  culti- 
ere  in  the 

i  go  there 

I  and  steal, 
place ;  but 
irhy  should 


•'  Do  you  think  I  can  get  in  there,  mother  ? " 
You,   my  darling?     Of  course    you  can! 
What  have  you  ever  done  that  would  shut  you 
out  of  heaven  } " 

"  What  have  I  ever  done  that  would  help  me 
to  get  in  there  ?  I  have  never  done  any  good, 
and  I  don't  know  God.  I  've  never  prayed  to 
Him,  nor  loved  Him." 

"Why,  Mary,  how  you  do  talk,  my  dear! 
You  have  never  done  anything  6ut  good.    Only 
think  what  a  comfort  you  have  been  to  papa 
and  me !    You  do  know  God,  darling,  —  that 
He  is  the  wisest  and  kindest  being  in  all  the 
world ;  and  as  to  praying  to  Him,  you  have  al- 
ways said,  '  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,'  ever 
since  you  could  speak.    And  you  cannot  have 
forgotten  that  papa  has  always  read  a  prayer  at 
breakfast  every  New  Year's  morning,  so  as  to 
begin  the  year  aright ;  and  that  we  had  a  min- 
ister on  purpose  to  pray  when  grandma  and 
the  dear  little  boys  died." 

"  And  yet,  mother,  God  is  a  stranger  to  me. 
I  do  not  love  Him,  and  yet  my  heart  aches  for 
Hun." 
"  Yes,  you  do  love  Him,  dear.    You  arc  nerv- 


)i  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

ous ;  you  must  take  a  powder  and  go  to  sleep 
now." 

"  Oh  no,  not  now,  mother  dear ;  this  is  Mon- 
day night,  is  n't  it  ? " 

"Yes,  love,  why?" 

"Because,  mother,  there's  something  very 
strange  happens  on  Monday  evenings  now. 
Just  as  I  get  settled  for  the  night  I  hear  sing- 
ing. It  sounds  very  far  ofiF,  and  yet  I  hear  the 
words  as  plainly  as  if  the  singers  were  in  my 
room.  You  know  I  hear  sounds  that  are  too 
far  off  for  other  ears." 

"No  doubt  it  comes  from  the  Methodist 
church  round  the  comer.  It  is  a  shame  for 
those  people  to  sing  so  loud  as  to  disturb  the 
sick !  I  wonder  if  they  think  such  screaming 
will  get  them  into  heaven  easier  than  remain- 
ing peaceably  at  home  will  do." 

"They  never  trouble  me,  mother.  I  love  to 
hear  them  sing.  But  they  have  no  meeting, 
nursie  says,  on  Monday  ev  ling  ;  so  she  thinks 
I  dream  of  the  singing.  Lc.it  Monday  night  I 
know  I  heard  these  words  :  '  The  old,  old  story 
of  Jesus  and  His  love.'  I  do  wish,  mother, 
I  knew  more  about  His  love.    When  I  am  so 


10  to  sleq) 
lis  is  Mon- 


hing  very 
ings  now. 
hear  sing- 
I  hear  the 
ere  in  my 
at  are  too 

Methodist 
shame  for 
listurb  the 
screaming 
m  remain- 

I  love  to 
»  meeting, 
she  thinks 
ay  night  I 
,  old  story 
1,  mother, 
n  I  am  so 


Mary  Lincoln. 


39 


tired,  I  often  long  to  see  Him,  as  if  that  would 
rest  me.  Don't  you  remember  how  our  old 
Katie  used  to  sing  about  Jesus,  to  rest  herself 
when  she  was  tired  ? " 

"  Yes,  poor,  ignorant  old  creature.  She  had 
no  other  way  of  amusing  herself." 

"  Mother,  will  you  find  out  who  these  singers 
are?  I  want  to  see  them  so  much,  I  think 
they  could  teach  me  how  to  rest,  and  tell  me 
how  to  love  God." 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I  will  try,  and  if  they  are 
respectable  people,  we  will  ask  them  to  come 
here  and  sing  for  you." 

Guptil  Alley  was  not  in  the  low  part  of  that 
city,  but  was  a  blot  on  a  fine  section  where 
nearly  all  the  buildings  were  new.     From  the 
high  windows  of    Mother  West's    room  one 
could    look  into  the  vine-clad   yards  of    the 
"  square,"  on  which  this  young  girl  lived,  ar.d 
when   the  noises  of    the   city  were    hushed, 
voices  could  be  heard  from  them.     It  was  from 
those  flower-screened  windows  that  'the  old, 
old  story  "  had  been  wafted  into  that  chamber 
of  luxury  and  to   the  ear  of   the  sick  girl, 
awakening  in  her  heart  a  desire  for  the  joy 
it  described. 


niiiilHllln>rni-air>i-rMOi<>m 


\T 


iLI 


40  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

On  this  Monday  evening  the  parents  and  the 
nurse  were  seated,  at  her  request,  by  the  open 
window,  listening  for  the  "beautiful  words," 
which  were  clearly  uttered :  — 

"  Ye,  who,  tossed  on  beds  of  pain, 
Seek  for  ease  but  seek  in  Tain, 

Hither  come,  for  here  is  found 
Balm  that  flows  for  every  wound, 
Peace  that  ever  shall  endure. 
Rest  eternal,  sacred,  sure." 

"  What  can  that  •  rest '  be  ?  Father,  go  and 
find  them,  and  bring  them  here  to  me." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  what  could  I  say  to  strange 
people  living,  as  I  think  these  do,  in  a  tenement 
house  behind  us?"  asked  the  kind  father  in 
surprise. 

"  I  want  to  see  them,  fi.  ter.  I  am  tired,  and 
they  can  tell  me  how  to  rest.  Go,  for  my  sake, 
dear  father." 

That  was  too  great  a  sacrifice  of  dignity,  but 
the  affectionate  father  compromised  the  matter 
by  asking  information  and  aid  of  the  grocer  in 
the  next  street.  "Oh  yes,"  the  man  replied, 
"  I  know  where  that  hymn-singing  comes  from. 
There's  an  old    saint  in    Guptil  Alley  who 


VinaM.hwdlMMli»iai.iiiii*>iiiw 


■MlTrtiaitiltir»iiiiiiii(."iiiifii 


aJtMwiaiii'iMiiiawiJwsHw 


Mary  Lincoln. 


41 


ts  aiid  the 
the  open 
words," 


er,  go  and 

5." 

to  Strange 
tenement 
father  in 

tired,  and 
r  my  sake, 

ignity,  but 
:he  matter 
grocer  in 
n  replied, 
mes  from. 
^Uey  who 


quarters  all  the  miserable  creatures  she  can 
find,  about  her,  and  feeds  them,  and  gets  work 
for  them,  and  converts  them  into  Christians. 
There  's  an  old  black  fellow,  that  was  a  pest 
in  the  neighborhood,  but  he's  turned  into  a 
new  man.  He  used  to  dance  clog-dances  and 
sing  low  songs  for  pennies  on  the  dorners  and 
round  the  market  Now  he  works  like  a  dog, 
and  keeps  himself  clean,  and  goes  to  Sunday- 
school  and  meeting  like  a  Christian.  He 's  got 
a  splendid  voice,  and  sings  with  the  old  lady 
and  some  others  every  Monday  night  in  her 
room.  I  always  listen  to  them  if  I  'm  not  too 
busy  in  the  store." 

"  Go  and  bring  them  to  my  house  to  sing, 
and  I'll  pay  them  well.  My  sick  child  is  so 
charmed  with  the  words  they  sing  that  she  will 
not  rest  till  she  sees  them." 

Christians  in  health  and  blessed  with  plenty 
little  know  the  eflfort  it  cost  Mother  West,  with 
her  infirmities,  to  array  herself  in  her  best 
black  gown  and  cap,  to  provide  her  "  Beautiful 
Tommy "  with  the  little  extras  which  she 
thought  necessary  to  make  him  presentable  in 
a  gentleman's  house,  and  to  train  Kitty  Mc- 


4S  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

Cosh  in  manners,  before  she,  leaning  oii  her 
daughter's  arm,  met  the  father  and  mother  of 
Mary  Lincoln  in  their  gorgeously  furnished 
parlor. 

If  these  parents  had  looked  for  a  band  of 
poor  but  merry  singers  who  were  nattered  by 
this  call,  and  hopeful  of  gain  from  it,  they  must 
have  been  greatly  surprised  at  the  modest  dig- 
nity of  Mother  West  and  her  daughter,  and 
the  bashful  surprise  of  the  others. 

All  the  party  were  seated  but  Tommy ;  he 
was  left  to  crouch  behind  the  door,  as  if  he  had 
been  their  watch-dog. 

After  the  mother  had  told  of  the  wonderful 
goodness  of  her  child,  and  of  the  strange  nerv- 
ousness which  had  now  taken  possession  of  her 
about  heaven,  she  led  them  up-stairs,  ignoring 
the  presence  of  Tommy,  as  she  passed  him  in 
the  hall. 

"Come,  Tommy,"  said  Mother  West,  "we 
cannot  sing  without  you,  and  we  want  the  help 
of  your  faith  while  we  pray  for  this  dear  child." 

Tommy  followed  with  much  hesitation  till  he 
reached  the  door  of  the  sick-room.  There  he 
seated  himself  on  the  stairs,  and  whispered  to 


—.1— .  I  iHii.fc>M<H**MWM!tll»* 


mff^mmmm^fW''^ 


ng  Oil  her 
mother  of 
furnished 

a  band  of 
ittered  by 
they  must 
lodest  dig- 
jhter,  and 

mmy ;  he 
if  he  had 

wonderful 
inge  nerv- 
ion  of  her 
,  ignoring 
ed  him  in 

^est,  "we 
t  the  help 
;ar  child." 
ion  till  he 
rhere  he 
spered  to 


Mary  Lincoln. 


43 


his  patron,  "  It  might  skeer  her  to  see  such  a 
poor-lookin'  cretur  as  me,  so  I  '11  set  here  and 

*  If 

smg. 

Mother  West  sat  down  by  the  bed,  and  hold- 
ing the  hand  of  the  sick  girl,  asked :  "  What 
can  I  do  for  you,  my  dear  child  ? " 

"  You  can  tell  me  how  to  find  rest,  and  how 
to  go  to  heaven.  I  want  to  hear  that  '  old,  old 
story'  you  sing  about,  and  I  want  to  know 
God."    And  they  sang  to  her  of 

"  Jesus  and  his  glory, 
Of  Jesus  and  his  love." 

And  when  their  song  ceased,  the  sufiEerer 
said,  "  Oh,  how  happy  for  you !  But  I  am  so 
ignorant  that  it  will  take  me  a  long  time  to 
learn  that  story." 

"  No,  my  dear  child,  you  can  learn  it  now,  it 
is  so  short  and  simple.  It  is  this :  you  need 
Jesus  for  your  friend  and  Saviour,  and  He  is 
here  at  your  bedside,  ready  to  receive  you  if 
you  will  only  come  to  Him." 

"  But  He  seems  very  far  off,  and  the  way  to 
Him  is  dark  and  rough,  and  I  cannot  get  there, 
I  am  so  weak." 

"11  Christ  should  come  into  the  room  now 


44 


Motfur  West's  Neighbors. 


as  He  used  to  enter  sick-rooms  when  He  was 
on  earth,  what  would  you  do  ? "  asked  Mother 
West. 

"  Oh,  if  He  only  would  !  I  would  throw  my 
arms  around  Him,  and  never,  never  leave  Him 
again." 

"Well,  my  dear  child,  He  is  here  beside  you, 
just  as  surely  as  if  your  poor,  tired  eyes  could 
see  Him.  Now  lay  your  hand  in  His  and  just 
tell  Him  all  you  would  if  you  could  see  Him. 
He  says  still : '  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor 
and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest' 
Those  are  His  words,  and  if  you  are  weary  and 
want  rest,  it  is  ready  for  you." 

But  I  must  do  something  to  please  God'be- 
He  will  let  me  come  to  Him,"  said  the 
sick  girl. 

"  No,  nothing  but  believe  on  Him  and  accept 
His  offer  of  mercy  and  peace.  He  Himself 
said,  when  He  gave  up  His  life, '  It  is  finished.' 
So  He  left  nothing  for  us  poor  sinners  to  do  in 
the  way  of  salvation,  but  to  accept  it  as  a  free 
gift.  If  you  should  live  an  hundred  years  and 
work  faithfully  for  Christ,  you  would  still  have 
to  accept  His  salvation  as  a  gift." 


tmviMi$wt6ttiHimmtm 


:n  He  was 
ed  Mother 

throw  my 
leave  Him 

leside  you, 
eyes  could 
is  and  just 
1  see  Him. 
that  labor 
you  rest' 
weary  and 

se  God*be- 
"  said  the 

and  accept 
[e  Himself 
s  finished/ 
rs  to  do  in 
t  as  a  free 
years  and 
still  have 


7! 


liM<nii'IUl|if«M( 


Mary  Lincoln. 


45 


"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  Well,  I  am  not  too  weak 
and  tired  to  take  a  gift,  but  if  I  had  anything 
10  do  first  I  should  die  without  finding  rest," 
said  the  young  girl,  closing  her  eyes  and  turn- 
ing her  head  wearily  away. 

The  visitors  sang  again,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Just 
as  I  am,  without  one  plea,"  and  then,  without  a 
parting  word,  slipped  silently  out  of  the  coom, 
so  as  not  to  break  the  gentle  sleep  into  which 
Mary  had  fallen. 

Those  parents,  though  living  in  the  full  light 
<rf  the  gospel,  had  never  before  heard  of  its 
pure  simplicity.  They, were  touched  by  the 
tenderness  and  zeal  of  their  humble  visitor; 
and  asked,  before  they  parted  with  her,  for  a 
visit  from  the  clergyman  who  had  taught  her 

all  this. 

The  minister  came  the  next  day,  but  it  was 
too  late  for  him  to  point  the  young  girl  to 
Christ.  She  had  found  Him,  already,  the  joy 
and  the  rest  of  her  soul,  and  gladly  did  she 
acknowledge  the  gift  through  that  humble 
messenger. 

Each  servant  of  God  has  his  own  appointed 
work,  which  cannot  be  taken  from  him  by 


46 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


another,  and  the  glory  of  leading  this  sweet 
child  into  rest  and  joy  belonged  to  Mother 
West,  and  not  to  her  learned  pastor. 

The  humble  woman  became  a  welcome  guest 
at  this  home  of  wealth,  and  her  visits  were  like 
those  of  an  angel  in  the  sick-room.  Even 
Tommy  was  welcomed  when  he  went  to  sing, 
but  nothing  could  ever  induce  him  to  go  nearer 
than  the  "top-steer,  lest  he  might  skeer  de 
sick  lady." 

All  in  that  house  are  now  asking  about  this 
strange  "story,"  waich  is  as  new  to  them  as  if 
they  had  been  born  in  a  heathen  land. 

They  are  softened  towards  the  gospel,  and  al- 
most willing  to  yield  to  its  claims  if  presented 
by  a  man  of  learning  and  popularity.  But 
God  will  send  by  whom  He  will  send,  and  He 
may  humble  their  pride  by  sending  His  light 
through  one  of  His  lowly  servants  in  Guptil 
Alley.  - 


■  .iKMUiwiiinmiiMiiinmto.-- 


"*•*' 


this  3weet 
0  Mother 

orne  guest 
;  were  like 
•m.  Even 
tt  to  sing, 
go  nearer 
skeer  de 

about  this 
them  as  if 
1. 

)el,  and  al- 

presented 

rity.     But 

d,  and  He 

His  light 

in  Guptil 


V. 


MARGARET  BELL. 

"ly/r  OTHER  WEST,  her  daughter,  and 
^^^  Kitty  McCosh  had  visited  Mary  Lin- 
coln, and  sung  for  her  more  than  once,  and  had 
been  tolerated  rather  than  welcomed  by  her 
mother.  The  news  had  spread  among  the 
friends  of  the  Lincolns,  that  "  an  old  minister 
in  the  neighborhood,  hearing  of  the  sickness 
and  unhappiness  of  that  lovely  child,  had  sent 
half  a  dozen  fanatical  beggars  to  the  house,  to 
scare  her  into  a  belief  of  his  own  hard  doc- 
trines ; "  and  some  of  them  felt  bound  to  fly  to 
her  succor. 

Among  these  deliverers  from  imaginary  evil 
was  Margaret  Bell,  a  bright  and  lovely  woman 
(most  people  called  her  a  girl),  who  was  the 
charm  of  the  circle  in  which  she  moved.  She 
was  the  devout  friend  and  companion  of  Mrs. 
Lincoln,  although  in  every  respect  her  supe- 
rior. 


48 


Mother  Wesfs  Neighbors. 


I 


Margaret's  complexion  was  as  pure  as  a  lily, 
and  time  had  left  untouched  the  roses  on  her 
cheeks,  and  the  brown  hue  of  her  hair.  Her 
spirit  was  as  light  as  a  child's,  and  she  made 
sunshine  wherever  she  went.  She  was  thirty- 
eight  years  old,  yet  nobody  regarded  her  as  "  a 
maiden  lady."  She  had  remained  unmarried, 
simply  because  she  had  never  seen  any  one  she 
loved  well  enough  to  marry.  She  shared  and 
rejoiced  in  all  the  joys  of  her  married  friends,  as 
if  it  were  her  own  happiness.  They  named 
their  babies  for  her,  and  all  longed  to  have  their 
daughters  just  like  her,  —  earnest,  active,  and 
unselfish,  the  patron  of  the  poor,  and  the  ad- 
mired friend  of  all.  Margaret  Bell  was  a  strong 
woman  and  relied  greatly  on  her  own  judgment, 
and  knew  her  power  of  exercising  it  over  others. 
She  rarely  argued  a  point,  but,  in  the  gentlest, 
sweetest  way,  stated  her  position,  and  drew 
others  to  it  by  her  own  confidence  in  it  as  the 
right  one. 

Mary  Lincoln  was  one  of  Margaret's  pets ; 
and  when  the  latter  returned  from  a  distant 
city  and  found  her  ill,  and  heard  the  exagger- 
ated story  of  her  having  been  "  frightened  into 


mmmMh 


tikmur- 


imm- 


e  as  %  lily, 
es  on  her 
lair.  Her 
she  made 
vas  thirty- 
her  as  "  a 
iinmarried, 
ly  one  she 
hared  and 
friends,  as 
ley  named 
have  their 
ictive,  and 
id  the  ad- 
as  a  strong 
judgment, 
»ver  others, 
e  gentlest, 
and  drew 
1  it  as  the 

ret's  pets; 
I  a  distant 
e  exagger- 
itened  into 


Margartt  Bell. 


49 


religion,"  she  took  the  matter  into  her  own 
strong  hands.  She  one  night  volunteered  to 
watch  with  her,  aftfer  having  given  her  views  of 
"  those  horrid  doctrines,"  in  a  way  that  startled 
the  indulgent  mother. 

"And  so  you've  been  ill,  darling,  and  I  not 
here  to  nurse  and  comfort  you  ; "  she  said, 
laying  her  cool,  soft  cheek  beside  the  biuning 
one  of  poor  Mary. 

"  Yes,  but  I  'm  better  now,  and  can  sleep  so 
sweetly.  I  am  peaceful,  even  when  I  am  in 
pain.  Oh,  rest  is  so  lovely,  Miss  Margaret," 
said  the  sick  girl. 

"I'm  delighted  to  hear  you  say  that.  I 
know  my  darling  Molly  had  too  much  good 
sense  to  be  scared  out  of  her  dear  little  wits 
by  half  a  dozen  old  tramps,  that  naughty 
mamma,  in  her  false  love,  let  in  to  worry  you. 
I  have  given  mamma  a  good  scolding,  and 
left  one  for  papa,  when  he  wakes  up  in  the 
morning ;  and  after  this  I  am  going  to  be  a 
watch  at  your  door.  No  old  grannies,  and 
tramps,  and  dwarfs  shall  come  in  here  again 
to  tell  my  sweet  Molly  that  she 's  a  sinner,  — 
the  ridiculous  thought  1" 
4 


iiiij>ijiiW[iti<|Willif!*a4ffcl 


IP  Mother  Wesfs  Neighbors. 

♦•But,  Miss  Margaret  dear,  I  am  a  great 
sinner,  and  I  knew  it  before  these  poor  folks 
told  me  so,  I  wanted  everything  and  I  had 
nothing.  I  was  tired  all  the  time,  and  could  n't 
rest,  and,  and,  —  but  oh,  I  can't  tell  it  all,  it 's 
so  long !  I  shall  never,  never  be  able  to  tell 
half  of  it  here." 

"And  you  came  to  your  senses,  and  saw 
that  you  were  safe,  and  had  a  right  to  rest 
in  God,  didn't  you,  my  dear?" 

"  No,  not  so.  Miss  Margaret.  I  saw  I  was 
all  wrong,  and  had  no  right  to  anything  from 
God." 

"  Who  had,  if  you  had  n't  ? " 

"Nobody.  But  God  has  prepared  a  rest 
tor  me  in  Christ,  who  has  taken  away  all  my 
sins,  I  have  found  it  through  Mother  West. 
I  don't  think  I  shall  let  you  call  my  friends 
•  grannies,  and  tramps,  and  dwarfs,'  Mi-'s  Mar- 
garet. I  do  wish  you  could  hear  them  sing. 
I  never  heard  such  music  before,"  said  Mary 
smiling. 

l«iss  Margaret  laughed,  patted  the  hot 
cheek,  and  said,  "Poor  sick  darling,  you're 
turned  back  to  babyhood  again  ;  I  used  to  sing 
to  you, — 


MwMiia 


SSEJSS! 


S3SSSSSSSSS 


m  a  great 
poor  folks 
and  I  had 
nd  could  n't 
1  it  all,  it's 
able  to  tell 

s,  and  saw 
jht  to  rest 

saw  I  was 
rthing  from 


cired  a  rest 
iway  all  my 
jther  West. 

my  friends 
'  Mi^s  Mar- 

them  sing. 
'  said  Mary 

d  the  hot 
ing,  you're 
used  to  sing 


Margaret  Pell.  ^ 

<Tro^trotto  Boston, 
To  buy  a  little  pig,' 

'Dickeiy,  dic)cery,  dock, 
The  mouse  ran  up  the  dock,' 

and  you  thought  that  mine  was  the  sweetest 
music  in  the  world.  You  '11  get  over  this  hal- 
lucination when  you  are  once  well  again, 
dear." 

"Get  over  what?" 

"Why,  these  queer  notions;  that  you  are 
a  sinner,  that  you  must  be  under  obligations 
to  somebody  else,  to  get  you  safe  into 
heaven." 

"  I  hope  God  will  take  me  to  Himself  first. 
I  should  tremble  at  the  thought  of  rising 
Irom  this  bed  and  going  out,  without  Christ 
to  guide  me,  and  comfort  and  save  me;  oh, 
He  is  so  dear  to  me!"  •  '  v     i 

Miss  Margaret  looked  at  the  pale  girl,  and 
sighed,  and  then  said,  "Look  at  me,  dear; 
did  you  ever  see  a  happier  woman  than  I?" 

"You  are  very  cheerful  when  I  see  you} 
but  don't  you  sometimes  tear  death,  and  wish 
you  had  some  one  to  go  into  the  grave  with 
you?"  asked  Mary. 


: 


:    i 


52  Motker  Wtsis  Neighbors. 

Miss  Margaret  was  silent  a  moment,  for 
she  was  truthful  in  all  matters ;  but  soon  she 
replied,  "  No  one  loves  death,  the  destroyer 
of  this  body,  my  dear ;  but  we  must  all  die, 
and  so  brave  people  make  up  their  minds  to 
meet  death  like  heroes  and  heroines ;  I  hope 
for  the  best  beyond  the  grave." 

"In  what  do  you  hope,  Miss  Margaret?" 

"  I  hope  in  God,  dear.  He  has  made  me, 
and  placed  me  here  to  honor  and  to  please 
Him,  and  I  have  tried  my  very  best  to  do  so  ; 
and  therefore  I  know  He  will  accept  me.  I 
follow  Christ's  example." 

"  Have  you  always  done  just  as  Christ  did 

here?" 

"  Well,  I  always  try  to  follow  Him.  I  give 
my  money  to  the  poor,  I  nurse  the  sick,  and 
I  teach  little  street  Arabs,  — when  I  can  catch 
them,  and  hold  on  to  them  long  enough.  I  'm 
a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  lady,  Molly ;  and  I 
think  I  have  done  enough  in  this  world  to 
carry  me  safely  into  the  next.    Don't  you?" 

"I  can't  read  your  heart.  Miss  Margaret. 
I  thought  I  was  very  good,  tiU  I  saw  my 
heart ;  and  I  thought  I  needed  no  one  but 


"■4A.SJ  ''m*»?«p'*j!?tfli>!»'P!»ff^''W*W«!^^ 


'S. 

momunt,  for 
}ut  soon  she 
le  destroyer 
nust  all  die, 
eir  minds  to 
nes ;  I  hope 

Margaret  ? " 
as  made  me, 
nd  to  please 
est  to  do  so  ; 
ccept  me.    I 

IS  Christ  did 

Him.  I  give 
the  sick,  and 
:n  I  can  catch 
enough.  I  'm 
^oUy;  and  I 
this  world  to 
Don't  you? 
ss  Margaret. 
il  I  saw  my 
no  one  but 


mmmmmm 


Margaret  BelL 


SS 


papa  and  mamma  to  lean  on,  till  I  saw  they 
could  n't  help  me.  I  found  I  was  a  poor,  sin- 
ful child,  who  had  never  had  one  good  thought 
and  never  done  anything  for  Christ.  Every 
pleasant  word  or  kind  act  had  been  to  please 
some  one  else;  and  God  wasn't  in  all  my 
thoughts.  I  was  just  as  proud  of  my  good- 
ness, and  as  selfish,  as  I  could  be  I  But  that 
'old,  old  story  of  Jesus  and  His  love,' — oh, 
I  wish  you  could  hear  those  poor  people  sing 
it!" 

"  Thankee,  ma'am,  I  'd  rather  go  to  the  op- 
era for  my  music ! "  replied  Miss  Margaret 
playfully.  "I'd  rather  work  myself  into 
heaven,  than  to  go  creeping  in  on  somebody 
else's  merits.  I  choose  to  'paddle  my  own 
canoe.' " 

Mary  did  not  smile,  but  she  replied,  "If 
you  could  only  hear  them  tell  of  Jesus,  I 
know  you  would  love  them,  as  well  as  Him." 

"No,  dear,  not  in  the  sense  of  admiration. 
I  pity  such  folks,  and  I  will  help  you  to  clothe 
and  feed  them,  by  and  by ;  but  I  won't  love 
them." 

"I. almost  envy  them;   Christ  lives  with 


r 


II  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

them,  and  walks  with  them,  and  talks  to  them 
every  day ;  and  they  forget  their  shabby 
clothes,  and  their  poor  homes,  and  feel  like 
kings  and  queens,  because  He  has  mansions 
and  thrones  all  prepared  for  them,  withoirt 
any  labor  or  price  from  them." 

"  Yes,  there 's  the  trouble  with  such  folks ; 
they  are  mean-spirited  ;  they  are  willing  to  ac- 
cept so  much  aid  and  help  from  others  I  I 
want  to  merit  heaven,  and  get  it  a«  the  re- 
ward of  my  labor.  But  I  shall  not  argue  any 
more  with  you,  my  darling.  These  whims 
will  vanish  with  the  effects  ti  the  morphine ; 
and  before  long,  you  and  I  will  be  running 
up  and  down  Guptil  Alky,  carrying  flannel 
and  shoes  aind  codcies  to  Granny  West,  and 
the  professors  in  her  divinity  school ! " 

"  Will  you  go  to  Mother  West's  for  me  to- 
morrow?" asked  Mary. 

"What?  to  get  myself  corrected  by  Pro- 
fessor Tommy,  and  to  take  lessons  in  piety 
of  the  little  button  girl  ? "  cried  Miss  Margaret 
in  playful  surprise. 

"No,  but  to  do  her  a  kindness." 

"Indeed  I  will,  and  glad  of  the  chance. 


ks  to  them 
eir  shabby 
d  feel  like 
mansions 
;m,  without 

such  folks; 

Iling  to  ac- 

others !    I 

as  the  re-* 

t  argue  any 

lese  whims 

morphine ; 

be  running 

ring  flannel 

'  West,  and 

JOlf 

I  for  me  to- 
ed by  Pro- 
ns  in  piety 
ss  Margaret 


the  chance. 


Margaret  Belt, 


5S 


*  Do  and  live,'  is  my  motto.  I  would  crawl  on 
my  knees  (I  guess  I  would)  to  Guptil  Alley 
to  serve  anybody ;  but  I  won't  put  myself  un- 
der tutelage  to  such  folks.  Now  good-night, 
darling." 

The  weak,  trusting  child  turned  her  face  to 
the  wall  in  search  of  sleep ;  and  the  strcmg 
self-righteous  woman  buried  herself  in  a  great 
easy-chair,  to  reflect  on  the  strange  things  she 
had  heard  for  the  first  time,  from  the  lips  tk 
one  whose  words  she  believed. 

.        •        •        •  .        •        • 

Silence  which  was  only  broken  by  the  clangs 
ing  of  the  great  bells,  as  they  rung  out  the 
small  hours,  now  fell  on  the  city.  The 
watcher  had  no  struggle  with  sleep,  for  new 
thoughts  were  busy  in  her  brain,  and  the 
great  questions  of  life,  death,  and  eternity 
were  sounding  in  her  ears.  "Can  it  be," 
she  asked  herself,  "  that  God  has  hidden  any- 
thing from  me  that  He  has  revealed  to  these 
poor,  ignorant  creatures  ?  May  it  not  be  pos- 
sible after  all  that  I,  who  know  so  much,  and 
who  have  done  so  much,  may  have  overlooked 
some  of  the  great  truths  of  the  Bible  ?  How 


^ 


H 


S6 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


is  it  that  this  weak  and  timid  child  has 
risen  above  death,  trampled  it  under  her 
feet ;  and  that  I  who  am  so  brave,  so  self- 
reliant,  tremble  at  the  toll  of  a  funeral  bell 
and  shrink  from  the  sight  of  an  open  grave  ? " 

And  at  these  thoughts  her  heart  turned 
sick.  She  strove  to  drive  them  away  by  re- 
peating snatches  of  sacred  poetry,  and  pas- 
sages from  the  Scripture  ;  but  in  vain.  Death 
had  a  sting  for  her,  and  the  grave  a  victory 
over  her  spirit ;  and  she  felt  it  as  never  be- 
fore. Her  high  spirits,  her  carnal  nature, 
and  her  unceasing  activity  had  generally 
kept  these  things  at  bay.  But  now  her  soul 
was  troubled ;  and  she  felt  that  philosophy 
was  powerless  to  give  her  the  simple  trust 
of  this  sick  young  girl.  Her  faith  had 
failed  her,  and  she  was  afloat  on  a  sea  of 
doubt. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  morning  would  never 
dawn,  and  drive  away  the  shadows  from  her 
soul.  Her  beautiful  fabric  of  purity  and  good- 
ness had  vanished,  and  she  felt  herself  without 
one  claim  to  heaven. 

She  set  forth  soon  after  breakfast,  as  Mary's 


mm^ 


BMM 


mm 


Margaret  Bell. 


57 


:hild  has 
nder  her 
\,  so  self- 
neral  bell 
I  grave  ? " 
rt  turned 
ay  by  re- 
and  pas- 
n.  Death 
a  victory 
never  be- 
ll nature, 
generally 
her  soul 
philosophy 
iple  trust 
aith  had 
a  sea  of 

lid  never 
from  her 
Eind  good- 
f  without 

IS  Mary's 


messenger  to  Guptil  Alley.  There  by  the 
high,  flower-screened  window,  she  heard,  as  if 
for  the  first  time, — 

"  The  old,  old  story  i  i   K 

Of  Jesus  and  His  love," 

and  her  proud  nature  was  so  humbled  that  she 
asked  for  guidance  in  the  way  of  life.  She  told 
of  her  pride  which  had  refused  to  accept  a  free 
salvation  ;  and  of  her  self-righteousness  which 
had  blinded  her  to  the  need  of  a  Saviour.  She 
spoke  with  tears  of  her  cruel  effort  the  night 
before  to  shake  the  trust  of  a  dying  child. 
She  was  not  there  as  a  patron,  but  as  a  beggar 
for  life  and  peace. 

Mother  West's  theology  had  few  points,  and 
these  she  stated  in  plain  terms  thus  :  — 

"We  are  all  sinners,  estranged  from  God 
and  holiness. 

"  God  has  sent  Jesus  Christ  to  deliver  us 
from  our  sins,  by  bearing  them  in  His  own 
body  on  the  tree.  i.s 

"  We,  who  willfully  remain  in  rebellion  against 
God,  will  be  denied  His  presence  and  the  joys 
of  heaven. 

"A  full  and  free  salvation,  and  glory,  be- 
yond our  power  to  conceive,  will  be  the  eternal 


msaHKm 


5» 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors, 


portion  of  those  who  accept  Jesus  Christ, 
and  become  one  with  Him,  in  spirit  and  in 
labor." 

Margaret  Bell  would  not  promise  to  believe, 
but  she  did  promise  to  read  God's  Word,  and 
to  ask  for  light  from  on  high ;  and  she  begged 
permission  to  repeat  her  visit  to  this  humble 
room,  so  like  heaven  it  seemed. 

On  leaving,  she  quietly  slipped  a  small  gold 
piece  into  Mother  West's  hand.  The  old  lady 
looked  at  it  in  surprise,  and  returning  it 
said,—       '     '^  *' 

"  No,  my  dear  lady,  I  do  not  need  this.  My 
bread  is  given  and  my  water  is  sure,  and  I 
have  few  other  wants.  Use  this  for  the  poor. 
I  thank  you  for  your  visit  and  hope  to  see  you 
soon  ag^in.     Farewell." 

The  calm  self-possession  and  quiet  dignity 
of  this  humble  woman  rebuked  the  pride  of 
Margaret  as  nothing  else  could  have  done ;  and 
she  went  to  her  home,  feeling  herself  less  than 
the  least  of  God's  creatures;  hungry  without 
bread,  and  thirsty  without  water.  She  had 
not  been  allowed  even  to  buy  the  interest  and 
the  prayers  of  the  noble  woman  she  had  taunt- 
ingly classed  among  tramps  and  beggars. 


'  rtJwfti^'^'MWK'flSfBBH 


-i^<'-'r>:'.':y. 


•}  {.     «!*•* 


*ri,:l^" 


VI. 


COUSIN  GERALD. 


J I 


MARY  LINCOLN  was  slowly  coming 
back  from  the  gates  of  death,  beside 
which  she  had  seemed  for  months  to  be  standi 
ing,  and  reaching  out  again  for  the  flowers  of 
earth  that  were  blooming  around  her.  The 
world  seemed  as  if  newly  created  for  her  joy, 
and  she  felt  that  every  one  she  knew  must 
sympathize  in  her  gladness. 

What  then  was  her  disappointment  when 
her  cousin,  who,  since  the  close  of  the  war,  and 
the  loss  of  his  father's  property,  had  been  as  a 
brother,  returned  home  on  his  college  vacation 
with  a  heart  so  opposed  to  all  he  had  heard,  as 
scarcely  to  rejoice  in  her  recovery. 

Cousin  Gerald  was  one  of  those  kind,  genial, 
merry  fellows  whom  everybody  loves ;  but  he 
was  now  at  that  disagreeable  age  when  he  felt 
that  he  was  the  wisest  man  in  the  world,  that 
his  college  was  the  only  one  in  the  country. 


aaaai<SJ''JA.f4iiM!jiJi.Mio?J»iaffig-wi':. 


6o 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


and  that  his  family  and  friends  made  up  all 
that  was  worth  calling  "society."  To  this 
boyish  conceit  he  added  the  most  ludicrous 
dignity,  which  made  him  seem  not  a  little  im- 
perious when  laying  down  his  views  of  what 
was  right  and  proper. 

Unfortunately  for  him  the  Lincolns  had 
shared  in  his  high  opinion  of  himself,  and 
really,  almost  without  knowing  it,  had  regarded 
him  as  an  authority  on  many  points. 

hv.  had  now  returned  half  a  head  taller,  a 
great  deal  handsomer,  and  nobody  can  tell  how 
much  wiser,  than  when  he  left  home  nine 
months  before.  He  had  closed  his  Sophomore 
(wise  fool)  year,  ai  d  felt  himself  a  Solomon  in 
a  silly  world. 

His  pride  had  been  touched  by  the  accounts 
his  aunt  had  given  him  from  time  to  time  of 
Mary's  instructors,  and  the  effect  of  their  les- 
sons ;  and  he  had  now  come  home  to  annihilate 
them,  with  a  breath,  and  to  wake  his  pretty 
cousin  up  to  the  charms  of  the  life  she  was 
soon  to  enter,      v   ^ 

Sarcasm  and  jesting  were  Gerald's  keenest 
weapons,  and  with  these  he  opened  fire  on  the 


I. 


Cousin  Gerald. 


6t 


family  before  he  had  been  an  hour  in  the 
house. 

"  Well,  Molly,  let 's  hear  the  history  of  the 
Beggars'  Crusade,"  he  cried,  laughing.  "  Will 
Dayton  got  it  all  from  his  sisters,  and  such  a 
story  as  he  made  out  I  never  heard  before. 
Come  tell  me  as  your  father  confessor  what 
these  lunatics  did  and  said  when  you  were  de- 
lirious with  fever,  and  your  mother  crazy  to 
please  you." 

"Nothing,  Gerald,  but  what  was  wise  and 
kind.  I  was  in  great  trouble,  and  they,  having 
the  comfort  I  needed,  brought  it  to  me,"  re- 
plied Mary. 

"  Well,  do  join  a  respectable  church,  if  you 
join  any,  and  don't  be  led  about  by  the  nose  by 
the  low  and  vulgar,  child." 

'♦  I  don't  know  any  low  or  vulgar  people, 
Gerald." 

"Will  Dayton  says  there  's  an  old  black 
dwarf — a  sort  of  fortune-teller,  and  an  old 
witch  of  a  woman,  and  a  set  Uke  them,  who 
have  had  the  run  of  the  house,  and  been  sup- 
ported by  your  parents  for  months,  because 
you,  in  your  weakness,  liked  to  hear  their  old- 
fashioned  songs  or  psalms." 


M^^mmttmaimmiiiitK 


,\i^tmi 


63 


Mother  West's  Neighbors, 


Mary  looked  pained,  but  simply  repUed, 
"You  do  not  know  these  people,  Gerald,  or 
you  would  not  dare  to  speak  of  them  so." 

"  Dare  ? "  cried  the  independent  young  r  ju 
tleman  ;    "  you  don't  suppose  I  am  afraid  of 
them,  do  you  ? " 

"  Nc,  but  I  hope  you  have  a  fear  of  God  that 
will  prevent  you  from  scorning  those  He 
loves,"  said  Mary. 

"  Well,  puss,  that  is  rich !  "  cried  the  wise, 
wise  man. 

"Gerald,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln,  "you  honor 
your  mother's  memory,  and  her  judgment,  and 
you  remember  her  feelings  the  last  year  of  her 
life,  when  none  of  us  understood  her." 

•  Certainly,  auntie,  that 's  just  what  I  am 
thinking  of.  When  she  was  sick  and  nervous 
the  blacks  took  possession  of  her  —  bodily 
and  spiritually  —  and  made  an  enthusiast  of 
her." 

"What  was  she  before,  Gerald?"  asked 
Mary. 

"  Well,  we  called  ourselves  as  good  as  any- 
body, and  went  to  church  every  Sunday  morn- 
ing, and  always  brought  the  minister  home  to 


!immmiifiwm''f'^*^ 


^ 


asked 


Cousin  GeraU  40 

dinner.  When  the  'goc  days'  came  lound, 
we  trimmed  up  and  read  our  lessons  like  other 
folks,  and  there  Was  no  reason  for  poor  mamma 
feeling  as  she  did,  that  she  had  wasted  life,  and 
misled  her  boys,  and  so  on,  and  so  forth." 

"Are  you  sorry  she  died  as  she  did,  Ger- 
ald ?  "  asked  his  aunt. 

"  I  am  glad  she  was  happy  —  dear  mother  " 
—  he  added  with  a  sigh,  but  recovering  him- 
self, he  said,  "  I  think  there  ought  to  be  fair 
play  in  religion  as  well  as  everywhere  else." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Gerald  ? " 

"  Well,  you  know  very  well  what  good  terms 
we  were  on  with  our  clergyman  then,  father 
almost  supported  him  and  the  little  church  too ; 
and  he  used  the  horses  when  he  pleased,  and 
brought  his  friends  to  the  house,  and  felt  as  if 
he  was,  as  they  say  of  ministcis  who  wait  on 
men  about  to  be  hung,  'our  spiritual  adviser.' 
And  yet  when  dear  mamma  got  weak  and  nerv- 
ous, she  never  sent  for  him,  but  turned  to  old 
Molly  and  Parson  Jumbo  —  you  remember 
them— and  pinned  her  faith  to  their  sleeves, 
and  died  happy.  That 's  like  sending  for  a 
surgeon  when  you  prick  your  finger,  and  call- 


WWiJIIlii 


C" 


64 


Mother  Wesis  Neighbors. 


ing  for  an  old  granny  when  your  arm  is  to  be 
amputated.  I  knew  very  well  that  our  clergy- 
man felt  it,  for  at  the  funeral  all  he  could  say 
was, '  Her  attendants  tell  us,  so  and  so.' " 

"Did  auntie  refuse  to  see  her  minister  in 
her  sickness  ? "  asked  Mary. 

"  Oh  no,  he  went  into  her  room  many  times, 
and  often  read  a  prayer  or  a  bit  of  poetry  to 
her,  but  he  never  seemed  to  know  what  to  say 
to  her." 

"  Ah,  Gerald,  I  fear  he  had  not  experienced 
what  she  had.  He  should  have  studied  theol- 
ogy with  Parson  Jumbo,  perhaps,"  said  Mrs. 
Lincoln,  smiling. 

"  He  could  find  men  less  wise  in  professors' 
chairs,"  replied  Gerald.  He  was  a  shrewd  old 
fellow,  and  a  truly  good  one,  too.  He  used  to 
pray  as  if  he  was  inspired  —  like  one  of  '  de 
old  Probbits/  as  he  called  them." 

"  I  've  no  doubt  I  should  take  him  right  into 
my  circle,  if  he  were  here,"  said  Mary,  smiling. 

"  No  doubt  you  would,  and  be  more  honored 
than  by  countenancing  these  designing  old 
frauds." 

"  Do  you  know  Mother  West,  Gerald  ? " 


iBtaaB 


■mpiwmiil 


iiiiii 


nasaon 


■"I 


1  is  to  be 
ir  clergy- 
:ould  say 

0.'" 

inister  in 

iny  times, 
poetry  to 
lat  to  say 

perienced 
lied  theol- 
said  Mrs. 

jrofessors' 
tirewd  old 
e  used  to 
ne  of  'de 

right  into 
y,  smiling. 
re  honored 
gning  old 


Cousin  Gerald. 


65 


"  No,  my  dear,  nor  do  I  want  to,"  replied  the 
young  man. 

"  That 's  not  manly,  to  condemn  people  on 
hearsay.  You  should  be^r  her  talk  and  sing  I " 
exclaimed  Mary. 

This  was  too  much,  and  Gerald  broke  out 
into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Do  you  really  think  she  could  teach  me, 

Molly  ? " 

"  Yes,  Gerald,  I  do." 

"  I  'd  like  to  see  her  try  it !  I  'U  go  there 
and  hear  her  gabble  as  soon  as  I  'm  rested.  I 
like  characters,  and  know  I  '11  find  sport  there. 
Where  does  she  live  ? " 

"I  shall  not  tell  you  if  you  are  going  to 
make  sport    of   her,  because  she's  old  and 

poor." 

'   "  I  'm  a  gentleman,  Molly ;  I  should  never  let 

her  know  what  was  in  my  mind." 

*'  Well,  go  there  with  a  message  from  me,  as 
mamma's  dear  friend  did,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  'm  afraid  to  go ;    there  seems  to  be  a 

magic  j^bout  the  old  lady.    She  throws  out  her 

net,  and  catches  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor, 

ignorant  and  learned;  and  who  can  tell  but 

5 


:iiwtf;iM'iiiw>iTOrtri:i*ini)i*i:it.rijiiiivi'"iiiiilHi^      — 


Mother  Wesfs  Neighbors. 


you  might  see  me  wriggling  among  her  vic- 
tims." 

"  You  are  afraid  of  a  poor  old  saint,  then  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Lincoln. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not ;  give  me  a  pail  of  hot 
soup,  and  let  me  go  at  once  on  my  errand  ol 
mercy.  If  I  go  as  a  patron,  she  will  not  feel 
fit  liberty  to  catechise  or  advise  me." 

"  Take  her  that  bouquet,  Gerald,  and  give 
her  my  love,"  said  Mary. 

"  Better  send  her  a  loaf  of  bread  and  lump 
of  cheese.  That 's  just  like  sentimental  school- 
girls. I  know  a  girl  who  worked  a  mouchoir 
case  for  another  one  who  looked  as  though  she 
had  n't  a  mouchoir  to  put  in  it." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,  Gerald.  Mother 
West  and  many  others  whom  we  call  'poor 
people,'  have  enough  to  eat  and  to  wear,  but 
they  can  never  buy  a  book,  a  little  picture,  or  a 
flower;  and  are  more  grateful  for  them  than 
for  '  bread  and  cheese.'  I  gave  Kitty  McCosh 
a  bouquet  on  her  birthday,  and  when  it  was 
withered  she  hung  it  up  to  dry,  and  says  she 
shall '  keep  it  al!  her  life  for  the  love  o'  me.' " 
.     "  She  worships  it — the  silly  thing— because 


KK9»»VW.>W«»?nHR 


«!»■ 


>ail  of  hot 

errand  oil 

11  not  feel 

and  give 

and  lump 

:al  school- 

mouchoir 

lough  she 

Mother 
call  'poor 
wear,  but 
:ture,  or  a 
hem  than 
y  McCosh 
len  it  was 
i  says  she 
o'  me 
— because 


Cousin  Gerald. 


67 


a  lady  condescended  to  give  it  to  her.     I  '11 
quiz  her,  too." 

"  You  had  better  take  care  how  you  do  it,  for 
she  's  as  sharp  as  you  are,  to  say  the  least  of  it. 
She  manages  that  '  court,'  parents  and  chil- 
dren, and  she  's  begun  on  the  landlord  now  ; " 
said  Mrs.  Lincoln.  "  I  expect  we  shall  have 
that  nuisance  removed,  or  turned  into  a  bless- 
ing. Your  uncle  says  that  Mother  West  and 
Kitty  McCosh  would  raise  the  value  of  real 
estate  of  that  class,  wherever  they  went.  It 
would  amuse  you  to  see  Kitty  marshaling  a 
troop  of  boys  and  girls  on  Wednesday  and 
Saturday  afternoons,  and  cleaning  up  the  alley. 
She  takes  the  hoe  and  rake  and  broom,  and 
leads  off,  and  they  all  follow  her.  And  when 
the  work  *s  over  she  seats  the  boys  on  the  rail 
before  her  window,  and  the  girls  on  the  steps 
of  the  houses,  and  makes  them  presents,  and 
gives  them  lessons." 
"  Do  you  think  she  'd  give  me  one  ? " 
"  Yes,  if  you  handled  the  hoe  in  a  ^y  to 
suit  her,"  replied  Mrs.  Lincoln.  "You  may 
laugh  at  Kitty  McCosh,  but  if  she  doesn't 
make  her  way  in  life  I  shall  be  surprised.    She 


■.  Ss 


^|^,w^,u^^(y!JflJWl^gJJ■■#^l■■ 


68 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


ought  to  have  more  advantages  of  school  than 
she  has  yet  had." 

"  I  '11  look  into  her  case  when  I  go  there,  and 
perhaps  I  may  become  her  patron,"  said  Gerald, 
-with  an  air  of  mock  benevolence. 

The  next  day,  however,  his  curiosity  to  see 
this  strange  "  magical  matron "  rose  to  a  fever 
heat,  and  he  visited  her,  as  he  said,  with  obla- 
tions of  flowers  and  currant  jelly. 

He  had  promised  to  meet  a  classmate  in  half 
an  hour.  But  the  young  man  waited  a~\  hour 
at  Mrsv  Lincoln's,  and  then  went  away  and  re- 
turned in  another  hour,  and  still  Gerald  was 
not  there. 

When  he  did  come,  he  was  in  a  very  quiet 
mood,  and  said  little  about  his  visit  at  first. 

"  How  did  Mother  West  strike  you,  Gerald?" 
asked  Mary. 

"With  surprise.  I  thought  she  would  fall 
down  and  worship  me  for  your  sake,  if  not  for 
the  honor  of  the  visit.  She  was  very  corciiU 
and  pleasant ;  but  I  felt  the  moment  I  met  her 
eye  as  if  she  were  a  duchess,  and  I  a  grocer's 
boy  come  to  serve  her." 

"  How  much  fun  did  you  get  there  ? "  asked 
his  aunt 


«■« 


hool  than 


there,  and 
id  Gerald, 

ity  to  see 
to  a  fever 
with  obla- 

ate  in  half 
i  an  hour 
ly  and  re- 
erald  was 

very  quiet 
:  first. 
,  Gerald?" 

would  fall 
if  not  for 
ry  corc'irJ 
I  met  her 
a.  grocer's 

!  ? "  asked 


Cousin  Gerald. 


69 


«  None ;  she  disarmed  me  at  the  first" 

"How?" 

"When  I  told  her  I  was  Mrs.  Lincoln's 
nephew,  she  smiled,  and  asked  me  at  once  if  I 
had  a  mother.  And  before  I  knew  it  myseU, 
I  had  got  into  the  story  of  her  life  and  death, 
and  —  well,  you  know,  auntie,  how  the  thought 
of  mamma  always  softens  me,  and  drives  away 
my  nonsense.  I  do  really  think  Mrs.  West  is 
a  wonderful  woman.    One  could  not  patronize 

her." 

"  You  did  not-  feel  disposed  to  offer  her  a 
loaf    of  bread  and  a  lump  of  cheese,"  said 

Mary. 

"  Don't  allude  to  that  again.  I  had  not  seen 
her  when  I  indulged  in  such  nonsense.  Why 
does  not  uncle  try  to  find  her  a  better  home  ?" 

"She  has  reasons  for  living  there,  and  per- 
haps she  is  doing  more  good  than  she  could  do 
anywhere  else,"  replied  Mrs.  Lincoln. 

"  I  should  like  to  dp  something  for  her,  she 
talks  so  much  as  mother  used  to  at  the  last.  I 
felt  almost  as  if  I  had  found  a  grandmother, 
she  expressed  such  an  interest  in  me.  How 
fond  she  is  of  flowers.    I  've  promised  to  go 


$1 
1 


» inMHimiiiiiiiBw 


70 


Mother  Wests  NHghbors. 


back  to-morrow  to  see  a  lily  that  will  be  in 
bloom.  How  strange  that  a  person  who  earns 
her  bread  can  have  any  heart  for  such  things 
as  flowers  ! " 

"  She  has  a  heart  for  everything  that  is 
lovely ;  and  that  is  why  she  takes  an  interest 
in  you  and  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln,  smil- 
ing. 

Mrs.  West's  influence,  which  she  never 
counteracted  by  rudely  assailing  people's  pri- 
vate feelings,  or  even  their  foolish  prejudices, 
was  now  to  spread  beyond  Guptil  Alley,  and 
beyond  her  respectable  neighbors,  and  to  be 
felt  among  young  men  preparing  for  the  battle 
of  life. 

She  had  thrown  a  jewel  into  the  sea,  when 
she  mo%ed  to  her  high  room  in  that  poor  alley  ; 
and  now  the  circles  it  had  caused  were  widen- 
ing day  by  day,  never  to  be  lost  till  they  should 
touch  the  silver  sands  on  the  other  shore. 


\ 


VII. 

'  MR.  JESSOP. 

MR.  JESSOP  knew  everything.  He  knew 
the  Bible  was  got  up  by  men  who  were 
paid  for  it.  He  knew  the  world  made  itself 
and  was  kept  going  by  the  fire  and  steam  in- 
side of  it.  He  knew  the  stars  were  sparks,  and 
nothing  more,  for  he  had  often  seen  them  go 
out.  Some  folks  said  the  sun  stood  still,  but  he 
knew  better,  and  "  guessed  he  had  eyes  in  his 
head."  He  'd  seen  it  rise  in  the  east  and  set  in 
the  west  ever  since  he  was  born.  So  he  knew 
astronomy  was  a  humbug  ! 

He  knew  that  when  men  died  they  went  to 
dust,  and  that  was  the  last  of  them,  and  the 
reason  ministers  preached  about  souls  was  so 
as  to  scare  folks  and  get  their  living  out  of 

them. 

He  knew  that  Newton  invented  lightning- 
rods  wrong,  or  else  he  'd  have  done  it  so  as  not 
to  let  lightning  strike  at  all. 


iiMiM'imtniiwtip. 


r 


Hf  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

He  knew  the  world  was  moving  backwards, 
that  folks  did  n't  know  half  as  much  as  they 
did  fifty  years  ago,  and  he  knew  everything 
was  going  wrong  in  the  government,  and  had 
been  a  long  time. 

Everything  Mr.  Jessop  owned  was  just  right 
and  could  n't  be  improved  —  from  his  patient 
•wife  and  ae  sons  —  whom  he  was  always 
blaming  at  home  —  to  his  old  house  with 
its  untidy  grocery,  his  steeple-crowned  hat, 
pointed  boots,  and  swallow-tail-coat ! 

Mr.  Jessop  was  a  prophet.  He  knew  every- 
thing before  it  happened,  and  could  always  say, 
"I  told  you  so." 

Once,  however,  he  had  to  say,  "  I  could  n't 
have  believed  it  I "  and  that  was  when  he  found 
the  liquor  law  was  being  enforced  on  "  respect- 
able folks."  He  "knew  what  was  right,"  and 
he  knew  it  was  an  outrage  to  tell  a  man  what 
he  may  and  what  he  raii>  not  buy  or  sell  or 
drink!  He  knew  that  "nobody's  rights  were 
thought  worth  looking  after  now  but  black 
folks',  but  he,  for  one,  meant  to  let  them  know 
that  he  was  'free  and  equal'  if  he  was  w' ite  ! 
He  hated  negroes  so  that  he  would  n't  do  a  jy  • 
thing  for  them  but  sell  them  liquor  1 " 


■"■"^^s^f^S^^- 


■ 


^ 


Mr.  yessop. 


n 


backwards, 
ch  as  they 
everything 
it,  and  had 

\  just  right 
lis  patient 
ras  always 
lOuse  with 
wned    hat, 

new  every- 
ilways  say, 

I  could  n't 
n  lie  found 

"respect- 
ight,"  and 

man  what 

or  sell  or 
ights  were 

bfut  black 
hem  know 
vas  w' i(re  J 
I't  do  a  y- 


Mr.  Jessop  had  been  a  sort  of  connecting 
link  between  the  high  and  low  who  lived  in 
such  unfortunate  proximity  in  that  neighbor- 
hood. He  knew  everybody,  and  could  always 
help  a  gentleman  to  a  laborer,  or  a  laborer  to 
an  employer ;  and  if  every  scandal  between 
muid  and  mistress  was  not  discussed  over  his 
counter,  he  regarded  himself  defrauded  of  hit 
rights! 

There  was  a  very  narrow,  dark,  and  dirty 
passage-way  which  led  from  Guptil  Alley  into 
Mr.  Jessop's  yard,  a  board  having,  as  ho  said, 
been  villainously  broken  out  of  his  fence  for 
the  purpose.  He,  however,  never  inquired  for 
the  "  villain  "  who  did  it,  nor  yet  did  he  close 
up  the  gap. 

But  now  that  he  had  been  fined  twice  and 
fancied  he  saw  a  policeman's  eyes  at  every 
dingy  pane  of  his  store  windows,  he  had  risen 
in  his  might  and  resolved  he  'd  "  do  some- 
thing" 

There  was  a  wreck  of  a  lawyer,  named — as  if 
in  irony — Joy,  who  spent  his  evenings  behind 
Jessop's  desk  making  charges  and  bills ;  and 
whom  Jessop  called  "  My  lawyer."     He  could 


15 
i 


Vi 
'A 


mmmm 


msm 


74 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


not  live  without  "  spirit,"  and  he  could  not  buy 
it,  so  he  was  bound  by  Jessop  with  a  chain  as 
hard  as  any  that  ever  bound  the  most  wretched 
slave.  He  was  naturally  a  gentle,  kind-hearted 
man ;  but  Jessop  could  now  have  made  him 
forge  or  rob,  or  do  anything  else,  such  was  his 
power  over  him. 

■  This  poor  man  scarcely  ever  crept  out  of  his 
own  narrow  street,  suffering  from  a  conscious- 
ness of  being  ridiculously  attired.  Sometimes 
he  had  on  an  old  coat  of  Jessop's,  too  bad  for 
the  store  ;  and  sometimes  one  of  Mrs.  Jessop's 
stately  minister's,  which  she  had  begged  for 
him.  He  was  sure  to  get  on  Bill  Jessop's 
flashy  pants  with  the  clerical  coat,  or  the  min- 
ister's close-breasted  vest  with  some  cast  ofif 
shooting-jacket.  Things  never  came  in  a  way 
to  match  ;  and  the  sensitive  creature  knowing 
this,  was  always  dodging  people  and  slipping 
behind  walls  or  into  alleys  to  avoid  the  re- 
spectable whc  were  once  his  friends.  Poor 
Joy  I  His  was  a  beautiful  soul,  as  God  made 
it,  but  it  was  now  marred  by  the  hand  of  the 
spoiler,  and  imprisoned  in  a  ruined  body.  He 
knew  it  all,  he  wept  over  it,  but  he  "  could  not 


Mr.  yessop. 


75 


d  not  buy 
a  chain  as 
t  wretched 
id-hearted 
made  him 
;h  was  his 

out  of  his 
conscious- 
>ometimes 
)o  bad  for 
s.  Jessop's 
egged  for 
Jessop's 
the  min- 
i  cast  off 
!  in  a  way 
:  knowing 
1  slipping 
i  the  re- 
ds.    Poor 
lod  made 
id  of  the 
ody.     He 
could  not 


help  it,  be  was  too  far  gone."    He  was  no 
longer  his  own  keeper  I 

Mr.  Jessop  had  now  been  goaded  to  mad- 
ness by  "  the  tyranny  of  the  law,"  and  had  re- 
solved to  stand  up  for  his  rights,  though  it 
should  cost  blood  —  not  his  own,  but  that  of 
his  dupes  —  to  gain  them.  Armed  with  a 
petition,  which  poor  Joy  had  drawn  up,  and 
dressed  in  his  best  clothes,  he  began  to  call  on 
his  neighbors  to  "get  signers." 

The  paper  set  forth  the  fact  that  the  prop- 
erty holders  in  the  west  part  of  Ward 

were  annoyed,  and  their  real  estate  damaged 
by  the  nuisance  known  as  "Guptil  Alley,"  a 
resort  of  thieves,  drunkards,  and  blacks !  It 
appealed  to  the  authorities  to  "clean  out  the 
place!"  and  it  threatened  some  terrible  ven- 
geance if  it  were  not  done,  showing  the  spite  of 
Jessop  and  the  mildness  of  poor  Joy. 

Armed  with  this  he  called,  one  evening,  on 
Mr.  Lincoln,  and  set  forth  the  danger  of  the 
neighborhood  from  fire,  pestilence,  and  rob- 
bery, from  such  pests  of  society  as  these  who 
"burrowed  there."  He  proposed  having  the 
people  driven  out,  the   place  renovated,  and 


■HUP 


76 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


turned  to  business  purposes.  He  even  sug- 
gested buying  some  of  the  "  filthy  dens  "  if  he 
could  get  them  cheap  enough  not  to  ruin  his 
family  in  the  attempt  to  aid  the  neighbors  ! 

"Have  you  suffered  from  these  people?" 
asked  the  gentleman. 

"Suffered?  indeed  I  have!  my  estate  is  so 
.  run  down  by  them  that  I  'm  on  the  verge  of 
beggary." 

"  You  speak  from  what  you  know  of  them. 
I  suppose  they  deal  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  every  soul  of  them." 

"  Do  they  owe  you  much  ? " 

"  No  ;  not  one  cent.  I  would  n't  trust  them 
long  enough  to  turn  their  backs." 

"  Then  they  pay  their  honest  debts,  poor  as 
they  are  ? " 

"  They  have  to,  if  they  deal  with  me." 
"  Did  you  ever  meet  an  old  person  named 
West,  who  lives  there  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  so.  She  had  the  impudence  to 
come  to  my  store  and  advise  and  urge  me  to 
change  my  business  !  I  set  out  to  kick  her 
into  the  street,  but  some  way  when  I  looked  at 
her  eyes  I  did  not  dare  to  touch  her  I    I  'most 


'•mmmSit'. 


'S, 


Mr.  yessop. 


n 


e  evon  sug- 
dens"  if  he 
to  ruin  his 
ghbors ! 
ie  people?" 

estate  is  so 
he  verge  of 

)w  of  them. 


trust  them 

)ts,  poor  as 

ne. 

son  named 

pudence  to 
urge  me  to 
3  kick  her 
[  looked  at 
I    I  'most 


thought  she  was  a  witch,  she  wilted  me  down 
so !  I  treated  her  as  if  she  'd  been  my  mother, 
and  I  've  been  provoked  with  myself  ever 
since." 

"  I  know  that  woman,"  replied  Mr.  Lincoln. 
"  She  often  comes  here  to  see  my  family,  and  I 
believe  she  can  help  you  if  anybody  can.  Go 
and  tell  her  your  grievances,  and  see  what  she 
says.  She  has  a  great  deal  of  influence  with 
the  owner  of  the  houses." 

"  I  'm  ashamed  to  go,"  said  Jessop. 
"  You  need  not  be  ;  tell  her  I  sent  you." 
Jessop,  hoping  either  to  get  some  favor  from 
the  owner  of  the  property  or  to  frighten  her 
into  selling  it  low,  made  his  way  to  Mother 
West's  room. 

He  had  a  speech  all  ready,  and  expected  to 
astonish  her  with  his  deep  wisdom.  But  scarcely 
had  he  opened  his  lips  in  abuse  of  her  poor 
neighbors,  when  she  asked,  "  And  what  have 
you  done,  friend,  to  improve  their  morals  and 
their  condition  ? " 

"  They  're  no  kin  of  mine,  and  I  'm  in  no 
way  obligated  to  help  them,"  replied  Jessop, 
testily. 


78 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


"  You  are  bound  by  the  law  of  God  to  love 
them  as  you  love  yourself,  but  instead  of  that 
you  have  been  working  the  ruin  of  some,  and 
crushing  the  hearts  of  others  among  them ; 
and  God  will  call  you  to  account  for  it." 

"  I  did  n't  come  here  to  be  abused,  old  wo- 
man !  "  cried  Jessop,  angrily. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  came  for,  friend,"  re-, 
plied  Mother  West,  kindly  ;  "  but  I  hope  God 
sent  you  here  for  a  blessing."  And  then  the 
dear  old  saint  set  his  ignorance,  his  meanness, 
and  his  sin  before  him  in  a  way  that  made  him 
wish  that  he  could  get  home  without  saying 
"  good-by  "  or  going  down  the  stairway,  —  he 
was  in  such  haste  to  get  out  of  her  sight.  He 
said  no  more  about  "  low  neighbors." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  as  if  he 
knew  nothing,  or,  as  he  expressed  it  to  his 
wife,  "  as  if  he  'd  had  all  the  starch  taken  out 
of  him." 

On  his  way  home  he  squeezed  the  petition 
vtp  into  a  ball  and  threw  it  in  the  gutter ;  but 
after  passing  on  a  few  steps  he  turned  back, 
took  it  up  and  tore  it  into  atoms,  —  he  was  so 
afraid  somebody  might  pick  it  up  and  read  it. 


■"pPPWi^i 


mm 


wi  ii,»ii|Wi|iiHjl»!WIP? 


>'S. 

God  to  love 
stead  of  that 
Df  some,  and 
T)ong  them ; 
3r  it." 
ised,  old  wo- 

r,  friend,"  re-, 
I  hope  God 
Lnd  then  the 
is  meanness, 
lat  made  him 
thout  saying 
airway,  —  he 
ir  sight.  He 
•s." 

i  felt  as  if  he 
ed  it  to  his 
ch  taken  out 

the  petition 
;  gutter ;  but 
turned  back, 
—  he  was  so 
and  read  it. 


Mr.  yessop. 


n 


That  was  the  end  of  poor  Joy's  great  peti- 
tion! 

When  Mr.  Lincoln  saw  Mother  West  agam 
he  asked  her  if  she  could  do  anything  for  her 
small-souled  neighbor  Jessop. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  can  do  nothing  for 
him.  This  kind  goeth  not  out  save  by  prayer 
and  fasting ;  a  conceited  and  ignorant  soul  is 
harder  to  win  than  the  vilest  one  to  be  found  ! 
I  have  far  more  hope  for  poor  ruined  Joy  than 
for  Mr.  Jessop." 

As  she  said  this  a  shadow  passed  over  her 
face,  and  she  added,  "  Here  I  am  again  limiting 
the  Holy  One  of  Israel  I  Is  that  poor  weak 
man  one  to  resist  God?  No.  He  is  but  a 
reed  before  Him,  and  I  will  ask  and  look  lor  a 
power  that  will  bring  him  down  to  the  dust 
crying  for  mercy.  I  will  give  God  no  rest  till 
He  magnifies  His  name  in  the  salvation  of 
poor  Jessop ! " 

Many  days  passed  over  before  they  heard 
from  the  grocer  again.  Then  he  came  to  the 
old  lady  with  a  gay  geranium  in  a  pot,  ha^  ing 
seen,  he  said,  that  she  was  fond  of  flowers. 
He  made  a  short  neighborly  call,  £md  when  he 


80 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


rose  to  go,  he  said,  "  I  was  rude  and  ill-natured 
when  I  was  here  before ;  and  I  have  n't  felt 
easy  about  it.  My  wife  thought  I  ought  to 
come  and  tell  you  of  it ;  and  —  and  —  my  wife 
wanted  me  to  —  to  —  ask  you  to  pray  for  me." 

"Is  it  only  your  wife,  my  friend,  that  sees 
your  need  of  prayer  ?  Do  you  not  feel  it  your- 
self ? " 

"Well  —  yes  —  I  feel  miserable  about  Joy, 
and  a  good  many  other  folks  and  things ;  and 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  ! " 

"Then  I  am  just  the  one  to  tell  you.  I 
know  where  to  cast  all  burdens,  for  I  have  had 
many  to  weigh  me  down  in  life.  Go  to  Jesus 
and  throw  all  your  sins  and  your  sorrows  at 
the  foot  of  His  cross.  Give  yourself  to  Him 
and  He  will  take  you,  and  then  you'll  know 
the  real  joy  of  life  ;  and  by  and  by  you  '11  know 
the  peace  that  death  can't  destroy." 

"  Poor  Joy,  too,  he 's  in  trouble.  He 's  given 
up  drink,  and  he 's  nearly  wild,  I  advised  him 
last  night  to  take  just  a  little  to  calm  his 
nerves,  but  he  says  he  '11  die  first.  He  prayed 
all  night  last  night,  and  my  wife  went  into  his 
room  to  carry  him  some  coffee,  and  found  him 


it.  aiaBaaMtMit 


WBT»ii>'-infl  •    i  ^1 


'PHWl 


ors. 

ind  ill-natured 
have  n't  felt 
t  I  ought  to 
nd  —  my  wife 
pray  for  me." 
nd,  that  sees 
t  feel  it  your- 

le  about  Joy, 
1  things ;  and 

>  fell  you.  I 
or  I  have  had 

Go  to  Jesus 
ur  sorrows  at 
rself  to  Him 

you'll  know 
■^  you  '11  know 

He 's  given 

[  advised  him 

to  calm  his 

He  prayed 

went  into  his 

id  found  him 


Mr.  yessop. 


Si 


asleep  on  his  knees.  He  spnmg  up  and  asked 
her  if  she  was  an  angel  come  to  save  him.  He 
has  such  a  powerful  respect  for  women  that  if 
any  one  can  help  him,  they  can.  Poor  Joy,  he 
has  n't  done  anything  but  drink,  —  but  I  —  do 
you  think  God  will  put  it  all  to  my  account  ?" 

"  Yes,  unless  you  repent." 

"  I  do  from  my  soul  I  And  I  wish  all  I 
owned  was  burned  up  ! " 

"  No,  all  you  hold  is  God's.  He  will  sanctify 
it  to  His  use." 

"  I  wish  I  was  black  Tommy ;  he 's  the  hap- 
piest man  I  know  ! " 

"  You  can  have  Tommy's  happiness  without 
his  deformity  or  his  poverty.  There  is  fullness 
yet  in  the  fountain  from  which  Tommy  drew 
his  joy.  Go  home  now  and  spend  the  day  with 
Jesus." 

"  I  'm  afraid  to  leave  you  lest  all  my  trouble 
comes  back  on  me ! " 

"  If  you  trust  in  me  it  surely  will ;  but  not  if 
you  look  to  Jesus." 

"  But  He  '11  help  me  for  your  sake,  not  for 
mine." 

"  He  '11  do  it  for  His  own  name's  sake.    If  I 
6 


82 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


can  help  you  I  will,  and  you  may  stay  with  me 
awhUe." 

"Jessop  forgot  the  store— all  but  the  "bar;' 
that  lay  like  a  live  coal  on  his  heart  till  he  was 
enabled  to  receive  that  wondrous  truth :  The 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin  — 
even  the  deep,  dark  crime  of  the  rum-seller. 

And  Jessop  became  a  new  man,  as  also  did 
poor  Joy,  of  whom  we  shall  write  again. 


stay  with  me 


utthe  "bar;" 
irt  till  he  was 
s  truth:  The 
rom  all  sin  — 
rum-seller. 
m,  as  also  did 
again. 


w 


VIII. 


POOR  JOT. 


"  pOOR  Joy ! "  That  had  been  for  years 
"*■  his  only  name.  The  virtuous  and  the 
pitiful  uttered  it  with  a  sigh,  the  self-righteous 
with  scorn,  the  inebriate  —  with  whom  he  had 
never  been  a  boon  companion  —  with  a  scoff  at 
"his  larnin'  and  his  gintility,"  and  the  rum- 
seller  with  a  chuckle  of  delight ;  for,  whoever 
else  might  break  his  fetters,  he  was  sure  of 
"  Poor  Joy."  He  knew  he  had  gone  beyond 
the  pity  of  men,  and  fancied  he  must  there- 
fore be  beyond  the  mercy  of  God.  It  seemed 
aa  if  there  was  nothing  in  store  for  him  here 
hut  a  drunkard's  grave,  and  beyond  ?  Ah  I 
how  few  think  of  the  unknown  "beyond"  of 
those  whom  they  censure  or  scorn  for  their  ill- 
doing  I 

We  have  now  a  kind  word  to  say  for  the 
drunkard.  He  is  not  a  fiend  incarnate,  "a 
sinner  above  all  the  sinners  in  Christendom." 


i! 


.4«ifei«*Sl»**»***»'***'" 


^ssrsasciv-t  ti- 


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Sciences 
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Series. 


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Collection  de 
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'^*^*'**»^^****te-**aNas«iM»»w  'i^^i-imimmmiimiiim^ti.^,.;. 


«^ 


84 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


The  victim  to  the  wine-cup  may  be  no  blacker 
in  the  eye  of  Heaven  than  some  who  walk 
upright  in  business  circles,  fill  their  seats  in 
church,  and  have  "Esq."  written  after  their 
names.  God  may  pity  the  first  and  despise 
the  last,      i  ,1 

Were  "the  possessions"  of  which  we  read 
in  the  New  Testament  the  result  of  a  special 
power  granted  to  evil  spirits  to  distress  and 
destroy  mtin,  which,  like  the  miracles  of  mercy, 
have  passed  away  ?  or,  were  they  merely  what 
we  see  every  day,  the  emissaries  of  Satan 
taking  captive  and  sometimes  destroying  the 
weak  and  the  helpless?  At  any  rate,  there 
are  many  just  such  cases  now. 

One  of  these  "possessed"  was  poor  Joy. 
In  the  earliest  flush  of  manhood  he  had  looked 
on  the  wine  when  it  was  red,  forgetting  the 
serpent  that  hides  itself  in  every  cup.  But 
that  was  only  "  a  boyish  error,"  and  he  came 
out  into  life  with  bright  prospects.  A  few 
years  saw  him  in  a  flourishing  practice  for 
one  of  his  years  ;  but  alas,  he  added  to  his 
natural  brilliancy  by  drinking.  Still,  "  he 
drank  only  as  a  gentleman."    But  the  tempter 


^ 


Poor  yoy. 


85 


o  blacker 
vho  walk 
seats  in 
ter  their 
i  despise 

we  read 
a  special 
tress  and 
of  mercy, 
irely  what 
of  Satan 
oying  the 
ate,  there 

poor  Joy. 
>ad  looked 
etting  the 
cup.  But 
,  he  came 
3.  A  few 
actice  for 
kd  to  his 
Still,  "  he 
le  tempter 


grew  stronger  and  he  grew  weaker,  till  at 
length  those  who  had  led  him  into  evil  pointed 
the  finger  of  scon  at  him,  and  cried,  "  Joy  has 
ruined  himself,  — he  drinks  like  a  fool."  Be- 
fore he  was  thirty-two  years  old  his  office  was 
shut  and  he  was  eating  the  bread  of  his  wid- 
owed mother,  who  hid  him  tenderly  away  from 
the  eyes  of  the  world  when  it  would  have  been 
a  shame  to  him  to  be  seen.  He  despised  him- 
self for  this  meanness,  and  wept,  and  promised, 
after  each  new  humiliation,  that  "  this  should 
be  the  last ; "  and  she  always  believed  him. 
Oh  the  mystery  of  mother-love  ! 

"  When  o'er  it  passed  a  cloud  of  blame 
Its  inner  glory  beamed  the  same." 

Hearts  are  often  slow  in  breaking,  but  an- 
guish such  as  hers,  with  hope  deferred,  does 
its  work  in  the  end.  Joy's  mother  died  with 
her  head  upon  his  breast,  with  full  faith  in 
his  promise  to  lead  a  new  life,  and  to  be  as  a 
father  to  his  little  sister  whom  he  really  loved. 

But  we  need  not  tell  the  sad  story  of  a 
cheerless  home,  and  the  child  whom  neighbors 
often  fed  and  sheltered,  till  an  indignant 
grandfather  removed  her  to  his  cbuntry  home, 


I  i<jjijiii|j|,>iiijwj,iii;n M|ilH»»i 


86 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


and  "left  Joy  to  shut  for  himself."  It  is  the 
old  tale  of  rising  and  falling,  resolving  and 
breaking  resolutions. 

There  was  now  no  door  in  all  the  wide 
world  open  to  him ;  no  lip  to  smile  at  his 
coming,  no  eye  to  weep  over  his  falling.  He 
was  alone.  He  made  one  more  effort  to  re- 
gain his  character,  and  to  get  business ;  and 
in  doing  so  fell  into  the  merciless  hands  of 
Jessop.  He  was  to  keep  his  books,  and  col- 
lect his  liquor  bills  ;  and  in  return  was  to 
have  a  room  in  a  house  he  owned,  and  "all 
the  spii.ts  he  wanted  I" 

Sometimes  Joy  got  a  little  decent  business, 
and  then  his  sensitive  spirit  saved  itself  tor- 
ture by  dropping  money  into  Jessop's  yawning 
till,  instead  of  collecting  it  from  the  starving 
wives  of  inebriates. 

Joy  had  never  yielded  to  the  coarseness 
with  which  the  demon  of  strong  drink  so 
generally  SulUes  the  souls  of  his  victims. 
The  ribald  song,  the  vulgar  jest,  and  the  im- 
pious oath,  were  always  offensive  to  his  ear; 
and  even  when  stupid  with  liquor  he  would 
flee  from  those  in  the  same  condition,  and 


iMiii 


■^HWniJ"  'mWflMti'lXi^  ■■'*»?T^«  W  -" 


It  is  the 
olving  and 

1  the  wide 
nile  at  his 
ailing.  He 
ffort  to  re- 
iiness ;  and 
s  hands  of 
:s,  and  col- 
irn  was  to 
i,  and  "all 

(It  business, 
1  itself  tor- 
p's  yawning 
he  starving 

coarseness 
;  drink  so 
lis  victims, 
ind  the  im- 
to  his  ear; 
>r  he  would 
idition,  and 


Poor  yoy. 


87 


shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  and  weep  over 
his  broken  vows.  Sometimes  he  would  call 
out  in  the  darkness  to  his  mother  to  break 
his  fetters,  and  ask  why  God  had  scorned  her 
prayers,  —  he  dared  not  pray  himself. 

One  night  he  sat  alone,  and  in  the  darkness, 
the  tempter  whispering  in  his  ear  the  most 
awful  suggestions  of  which  he  is  capable. 
"Why  drag  on  a  life  like  this,  making  still 
deeper  your  final  condemnation  ?  Your  life  is 
your  own,  why  not  make  an  end  of  it  ? " 

Joy  haileu  the  thought  as  if  it  had  been  a 

savior. 

His  hand  was  on  his  razor  when  he  heard 
the  wily  touch  of  Jessop  on  his  door,  and  the 
words,  whispered  in  the  gloom,  "Tom  Lake's 
father  has  been  with  him  all  day.  He  brought 
loads  of  good  things  from  the  farm.  Tom  has 
signed  the  pledge,  and  the  old  man  has  given 
him  a  nice  silver  watch,  and  left  some  money 
with  his  wife.  He  goes  in  the  eight  o'clock 
train,  and  if  you  demand  payment  from  Lak^ 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  his  wife  makes  him 
give  up  that  watch.  I  never  saw  a  woman 
that  hated  a  debt  as  she  does  I "  • 


iMMiMNMtlHBMIHMriM^^ 


.vii.'iU'Hs^i^iM.i.i^ 


m 


Mother  Wesfs  Neighbors. 


Poor  Joy's  first  impulse  was  to  say  that  his 
Iftst  deed  of  that  kind  was  done,  and  that  his 
day  of  sin  was  ended ;  but  before  he  could 
command  his  voice  his  fear  of  Jessop  returned, 
and,  like  a  frightened  dog  in  the  presence  of  a 
cruel  master,  he  dropped  his  head,  drew  his 
slouched  hat  over  his  ears,  and  went  out  into 
the  storm,  followed  to  the  head  of  Guptil 
Alley  by  his  master.  As  Jessop  turned  to 
leave  him,  Joy  drew  a  sigh  that  ended  in  a 
groan. 

"  Come,  come,  don't  be  a  fool  now,  and  lose 
your  high  reputation  for  a  collector,  Joy ! " 
exclaimed  Jessop  in  a  cheery  voice.  Come 
round  if  you  have  good  luck,  and  we  '11  have 
a  glass  of  hot  punch  together.  Mrs.  J.'s  gone 
to  her  prayer-meeting  to-night,  and  will  be 
none  the  wiser.    Ha,  ha ! " 

"I  would  n't  deceive  that  merciful  woman 
for  a  barrel  of  punch  —  the  cursed  stuff ! " 
Mrs.  Jessop  knows  the  worst  of  me,  now,  and 
she  always  shall  I  I  dreamed  last  night  that 
I  heai'd  her  and  my  mother  praying  for  my 
«oul,  and  as  long  as  I  heard  their  voices  I  saw 
the  gate  open  —  as  if  God  couldn't  shut  it 
while  they  prayed  ! "  cried  Joy. 


Poor  Joy. 


«9 


say  that  his 
ind  that  his 
re  he  could 
op  returned, 
resence  of  a 
d,  drew  his 
:nt  out  into 
[  of  Guptil 
I  turned  to 
ended  in  a 

>w,  and  lose 
ctor,  Joy!" 
)ice.  Come 
we'll  have 
rs.  J.'s  gone 
ind  will  be 

:iful  woman 
sed  stuff!" 
le,  now,  and 
night  that 
ing  for  my 
roices  I  saw 
n't  shut  it 


"Here,  Joy!  wake  up!  what  are  you  talk- 
ing about?  You're  losing  your  senses,  a'n't 
you  ? "  shouted  Jessop,  giving  him  a  smart 

push. 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  sighed  Joy.  "  It  is  eight- 
een years  ago  to-night — Commencement  Day 

—  a  freshman,  that  I  first  tasted  ardent  spirits 

—  the  curse  of  my  life,  that  will  cost  me  my 

soul!" 

"  Pho,  pho  ! "  cried  Jessop.  "  Be  a  man  now 
like  me,  and  go  after  that  watch,"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

Which  of  these  two  was  the  greater  sinner  ? 

Again  Joy  groaned  as  he  stepped  into  the 
shadow  to  watch  for  the  departiKe  of  the  old 
man  whom  God  had  sent  as  a  delivering  angel, 
from  the  pure  hills  and  the  free  air  of  New 
Hampshire. 

Nor  did  he  wait  long.  An  old  man  soon 
appeared  at  one  of  the  doors  with  a  carpet- 
bag in  his  hand,  singing  in  the  faintest  possible 
tone, — 

"  What  though  the  seed  lie  buried  long, 
It  shan't  deceive  our  trust" 

"  What  seed  ? "  cried  Joy,  hardly  knowing 
what  he  said. 


r 


.ATrrrs-.U".B!'! 


90 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


P    i 


!   . 


,. 


"The  prayers  of  the  righteous  dead  for  a 
wandering  son,"  replied  the  old  man,  hardly 
stopping,  in  his  haste,  to  look  at  the  speaker. 

When  he  had  gone  Joy  stood  as  if  paralyzed 
for  a  moment,  overwhelmed  by  the  question, 
"  Shall  I  add  one  more  to  my  daily  sins,  or 
«hall  I  by  one  enormous  crime  end  my  sinning. 
I  'm  afraid  of  Jessop,"  he  whispered,  "  but  I  'm 
more  afraid  of  a  holy  God.  Where  are  the 
prayers  of  the  righteous  dead  for  me  ? " 

He  walked  up  the  alley,  entered  a  door 
stealthily,  and  crept  up-stairs,  as  he  had  done 
more  than  once  before,  towards  the  poor  attic 
into  which  rum  had  driven  Tom  Lake's  family. 

As  he  passed  a  door  that  was  ajar,  he  heard 
a  sweet  voice  utter  these  words,  and  they  were 
all  he  heard  although  a  woman  still  went  on 
reading,  "Whom  Satan  has  bound,  lo,  these 
eighteen  years ! " 

Joy  halted,  he  turned  his  steps  and  went 
home,  saying,  "  That  is  me  whom  Satan  has 
bound,  and  whose  fetters  can  never  be  broken !" 
He  was  thenceforth  for  days  like  the  man  in 
the  iron  cage,  a  victim  of  despair,  and  Jessop 
had  to  hear  his  story,  although  it  was  at  the 


1 


rs. 

dead  for  a 
man,  hardly 
the  speaker, 
if  paralyzed 
he  question, 
laily  sins,  or 

my  sinning, 
d,  "  but  I  'm 
ere  are  the 
le?" 

:red  a  door 
le  had  done 
le  poor  attic 
Uce's  family, 
ar,  he  heard 
d  they  were 
itill  went  on 
id,  lo,  these 

s  and  went 
I  Satan  has 
be  broken!" 
the  man  in 
and  Jessop 
was  at  the 


Poor  yoy. 


9« 


time  when  his  soul  was  bent  on  demolishing 
"  that  alley." 

We  will  not  portray  those  dreadful  days, 
nor  dwell  on  Satan's  wiles  with  the  prostrate 
man.  We  will  only  tell  of  the  mercy  of  an 
humble  woman  that  saved  a  soul  from  death, 
and  of  the  wonder-working  power  of  God 
which  gave  to  her  husband's  victim  the  glory 
of  bringing  him  to  penitence  and  pardon. 

After  Jessop's  visit  to  Mother  West,  of  which 
we  told  our  readers  before,  Joy  was  induced  to 
go  there  for  sympathy  and  advice.  And  he 
went,  a  most  haggard  and  forlorn  creature, 
with  despair  pictured  in  every  line  of  his  fine 
face. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  God,  and  his 
Son  Jesus  Christ,  my  dear  friend  ? "  was  the 
first  question  of  his  aged  hostess. 

"Yes,  I  was  brought  up  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord  ;  but  I  have  cast  away  fear,  restrained 
prayer,  and  am  given  over  to  Satan  to  be 
bound  by  him  forever,"  was  the  mournful 
answer. 

"  Who  told  you  so  ? " 

♦«  My  own  heart." 


mmik 


Mother  Wesfs  Neighbors. 

"  What  kind  of  a  heart  have  you,  my  friend  ? " 

"An  awful  one,  deceitful  above  all  things^ 
and  desperately  wicked,"  replied  Joy,  with  deep 
feeling. 

"  And  yet  you  take  its  testimony  before  that 
of  a  covenant-keeping  God  !  He  says  though 
your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  He  will  wash  them 
away  He  says  whosoever  cometh  shall  in  no 
wise  i>e  cast  out ;  that  He  came  into  the  world 
♦:o  save,  the  chief  of  sinners.  But  your  poor 
sinful  heart  tells  you  that  this  is  not  true  I  Do 
you  believe  Satan  is  stronger  than  God  .' " 

"  Oh,  no,  I  believe  God  has  all  power  in 
heaven  and  on  earth,  and  '.hat  He  can  save  me 
if  He  will,  but"  — 

"  My  son,"  said  the  old  woman  tenderly, 
"  there  is  no  '  but '  in  this  matter.  God  is  as 
willing  as  He  is  able  to  save  you.  Jesus  is 
here  beside  us  now,  though  our  poor  eyes  see 
Him  not,  and  He  holds  out  his  arms  to  you, 
His  repenting  child,  and  tells  you  the  wounds 
He  bore  on  Calvary  were  for  you,  if  you  will 
but  accept  His  mercy.  What  will  you  do  about 
it?" 

"  If  I  could  but  know  it  1  would  fall  down 


my  friend  ? " 
e  all  things 
)y,  with  deep 

'  before  that 

says  though 

wash  them 

I  shall  in  no 
ito  the  world 
It  your  poor 
)t  true !    Do 

God?" 

II  power  in 
can  save  me 

an  tenderly, 
God  is  as 
u.  Jesus  is 
oor  eyes  see 
rms  to  you, 
the  wounds 
,  if  you  will 
ou  do  about 


d  fall  down 


Poor  yoy. 


9S 


and  kiss  His  feet  and  lay  down  my  life  for  Him. 
Oh,  I  am  so  sick  of  sin,  so  hungry  after  holi- 
ness ! "  cried  the  wretched  man. 

"  You  do  not  long  for  Christ  as  He  longs  for 
you,  poor  child.  Venture  on  His  mercy  and 
He  will  manifest  Himself  to  you  in  a  way 
which  shall  amaze  the  ungodly  world.  He  has 
already  humbled,  and,  I  hope,  saved  through 
you,  the  man  who  has  ruined  so  many ;  and 
who  can  tell  what  stores  of  blessed  work 
He  has  laid  up  for  you  to  do.  Trust  Him, 
though  you  should  die  at  His  feet." 

And  Joy  replied,  "  Though  He  slay  me,  yet 
will  I  trust  Him." 

The  days  of  miracles  are  not  ended.  Poor 
Joy  was  led  by  this  humble  woman's  faith  to 
Jesus,  and  saved  not  only  from  his  besetting 
sin,  but  also  from  the  temptation  to  commit 
it. 

He  has  been  for  years  leading  an  honorable 
Christian  life,  and  working,  as  few  men  have 
ever  worked,  for  the  emancipation  of  slaves  in 
his  old  prison-house.  His  testimony  is  this : 
"  From  the  hour  that,  in  humble  penitence,  I 
cast  myself  on  the  infinite  mercy  of  Christ,  my 


SSf'" 


I 


<: 


- 


^J 


iOBBE 


94 


Mother  Wesfs  Neighbors. 


desire  for  ardent  spirit  was  utterly  quenched, 
and  I  loathed  the  very  smell  of  it.  I  believe  a 
miracle  as  great  as  that  on  the  man  who  dwelt 
among  the  tombs  has  been  wrought  on  me. 
No  power  but  God's  could  have  done  this." 

This  is  not  a  base  fiction.  Joy  is  sitting  to- 
day clothed  and  in  his  right  mind,  among  his 
equals  ;  therefore  let  no  one  limit  the  power  of 
the  Almighty  by  saying  that  "the  confirmed 
drunkard  is  beyond  hope!"  The  prayer  of 
faith  and  the  undying  energy  of  Christian  love 
can  remove  even  this  mountain  of  sin. 

Oh,  the  wrecks  that  lie  about  us  on  every 
hand  I  The  young,  the  gifted,  and  the  beloved 
dashed  on  the  rocks,  and  tossed  among  the 
billows  1  Who  shall  rescue  them  ?  If  good 
and  resolute  men,  in  their  lack  of  faith,  draw 
back,  if  shrewd  politicians  stagger  before  this 
work,  let  women,  strong  in  the  might  of  love, 
take  to  the  boats,  and  prove  that  none  are  lost 
who  desire  to  be  saved. 


■Si-  'tfcp-'J 


rs. 

■ly  quenched, 
I  believe  a 
in  who  dwelt 
light  on  me. 
>ne  this." 
is  sitting  to- 
\,  among  his 
the  power  of 
le  confirmed 
le  prayer  of 
hristian  love 
sin. 

us  on  every 
I  the  beloved 
among  the 
?  If  good 
i  faith,  draw 
'  before  this 
tght  of  love, 
none  are  lost 


IX. 


MISS  SIBYL  THORNE. 


AMONG  that  large  class  whose  mission 
seems  to  be  keeping  other  folks  at  work, 
was  Miss  Sibyl  Thorne,  a  lady  of  small  prop- 
erty and  great  ambition.  She  could  not  have 
shone  in  the  halls  of  fashion  had  she  wanUd 
to,  but  in  her  own  circle  she  was  bound  to  be 
felt! 

She  lived  in  a  very  modest  house,  with  a 
little,  wizened  old  sister,  who  always  wore  a 
shawl,  summer  and  winter,  and  coughed  in- 
cessantly, making  about  as  much  noise  as  a 
bird  might  be  supposed  to  make  if  in  a  seated 
and  lingering  consumption  ;  and  crept  about 
as  softly  as  a  mouse,  always  cai  ving  her 
hand  on  her  heart,  and  wearing  a  ai.iile,  for 
which  those  who  knew  nothing  of  her  inner 
peace  saw  no  cause. 

As  the  ladies  kept  no  servant,  and  as  Miss 
Sibyl  was   always  on  the  street  or  at   some 


.-,>as^i::.Ma..at.:i«a;.tfc-«ti<Bamtei. , ^,-,^ 


96 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


public  meeting,  it  was  presumed  by  the  neigh- 
bors that  the  work  of  the  house  was  done 
by  the  poor  Uttle  woman,  who  fluttered  about 
as  if  determined  not  to  die  till  it  was  all  done 
and  well  done.  ^    v.,     >; -r^ 

This  home  kingdom  was  small,  but  it  boasted 
a  que2n  and  a  slave ;  for  it  takes  neither 
wealth  nor  blood  to  make  an  autocrat,  nor 
yet  poverty  nor  if;norance  to  make  a  slave. 

Miss  Sibyl's  mission  lay  out-of-doors  ;  and 
that  settled,  the  conclusion  was  plain  enough 
that  "  Miss  Thome's  "  lay  within  doors.  The 
latter  had  many  sick  days,  but  that  never  kept 
her  sister  in.  "  Bed  was  the  best  place,  then," 
she  said,  "and  if  people  rang  at  the  door 
they  must  just  nng,  that  was  all !  They  cer- 
tainly could  n't  expect  the  sick  to  rise  from 
their  beds  to  let  them  in." 

Many  a  time  has  this  patient  little  saint 
craved  a  drink  of  cold  water,  when  too  ill  to 
rise  and  get  it,  while  her  energetic  sister  — 
whom  her  acquaintances  regarded  as  an  ani- 
mated subscription  paper  —  was  wearying  her- 
self and  everybody  else  out,  to  buy  melodeons 
for   the    Hottentots  who  couldn't  play  them, 


'S. 

)y  the  neigh- 
;e  was  done 
ttered  about 
was  all  done 

ut  it  boasted 
kes  neither 
utocrat,  nor 
e  a  slave, 
doors ;  and 
lain  enough 
doors.  The 
never  kept 
place,  then," 
i  the  door 
They  cer- 
0  rise  from 

little  saint 
n  too  ill  to 
ic   sister  — 

as  an  ani- 
arying  her- 

melodeons 
play  them, 


Miss  Sibyl  Thome.  0 

and  sewing  machines  for  cannibals  who  had 
nothing  to  sew  I  But  that  was  consistent  with 
Miss  Sibyl's  theory  of  an  "  out-of-door  work." 

Mifis  Sibyl  held  very  decided  views  of  her 
own  on  many  points,  especially  on  the  manner 
of  dispensing  charity.  No  circumstances  jus- 
tified giving  at  the  door,  nor  indeed,  anywhere, 
personally.  She  was  society-mad.  Had  you 
asked  her  for  a  pin,  she  would  aln.ost  have  pro- 
posed that  you  "wait  till  a  society  could  be 
formed  for  the  aid  of  the  poor  and  pinless  in 
the  community."        v^     ;  s    r    ^:     ««? 

But  all  the  societies,  to  meet  with  her  pat- 
ronage and  favor,  must  be  formed  ou  her  plan 
and  be  largely  under  her  control. 

The  3nly  way  then  that  the  little  imprisoned 
subject.  Miss  Thorne,  ever  got  an  opportunity 
to  relieve  her  generous  heart,  was  by  beckon- 
ing to  a  passing  baker,  purchasing  loaves  and 
distributing  them  to  hungry  children,  —  whom 
she  placed  almost  under  bonds  of  secrecy, — 
in  her  sister's  prolonged  absences. 

Every  case  of  want  brought  to  Miss  Sibyl 
by  others  was  "  an  imposition ; "  only  those 
she  herself  discovered  and  dug  from  the  mine 
7 


98 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


ci  woe  were  ;;enuine.    She  seemed  almost  to 
hate  those  she  called  "  irresponsible  beggars," 

Every  yeav  or  two  Miss  Sibyl  mounted  some  ' 
new  hobby,  rode  down  all  opposers,  and  had 
"a  smash-up,"  as  the  boys  say;  after  which 
she  would  sink  down  discouraged  in  her  efforts 
for  the  lower  classes,  and  rest  a  week  before 
setting  out  on  a  fresh  campaign. 

She  had  just  given  up  a  "Mission  for  Or- 
gan-Grinders," because  those  wandering  trou- 
badouiu  had  proved  themselves  ungrateful  sin- 
ners ;  and  was  casting  about  for  a  new  field. 
She  was  half  inclined  <o  try  the  monkeys,  as 
more  hopeful  than  their  masters,  when  some 
one  remarked  that  there  was  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  her  own  house  and  church  a  neigh- 
borhood utterly  neglected  by  those  who  were 
compassing  sea  and  land  elsewhere  to  make 
converts  to  Christianity.  Guptil  Alley,  Har- 
per's Place,  and  Billiard  Row,  came  within  this 
precinct,  and  formed  a  dark  and  stormy  back- 
ground to  the  bright  picture  of  wealth  and 
prosperity  around  the  fine  park  less  than  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  away. 
The  idea  of  there  being  women  at  her  door, 


Miss  Sibyl  Thome. 


99 


;d  almost  to 
>Ie  beggars," 

tunted  some 
TS,  and  had 

after  which 
n  her  efiForts 
week  before 

sion  for  Or- 
iering  trou- 
grateful  sin- 

1  new  field, 
monkeys,  as 
when  some 
e  immediate 
ch  a  neigh- 

2  who  were 
re  to  make 
^Uey,  Har- 

within  this 
ormy  back- 
vealth  and 
ts  than  an 

t  her  door, 


who  were  neither  Italians  nor  Irish,  nor  Cath- 
olics at  all,  but  of  her  own  race,  who  knew 
but  did  not  obey  the  claims  of  the  gospel, 
seemed  new  to  her.  She  was  sick  of  the  de- 
ception and  intriguing  of  those  she  had  just 
been  laboring  for  ;  and  she  liow  mounted  this 
new  hobby  with  a  spring  1  A  new  society 
must  be  formed  at  once,  which  she  decided  to 
call  "  The  Mission  at  our  Door,"  the  motto  of 
which  should  be,  "  Beginning  at  Jerusalem." 

She  set  forth  one  bright  morning  armed 
with  a  constitution,  a  pledge,  and  a  subscrip- 
tion paper.  The  first  and  the  third  were  to  be 
signed  by  the  patrons  of  the  work  ;  the  second 
by  the  recipient  of  their  bounty.  Among  the 
first  she  favored  with  a  call  were  Mrs.  Lincoln 
and  Mary,  the  latter  of  whom  was  rapidly  re- 
gaining her  vigor,  and  able  to  bear  a  hand  in 
works  of  charity.  They  signed  the  constitu- 
tion, which  provided  for  Sunday  and  sewing- 
schools,  orayer  and  temperance  meetings,  and 
the  paper  which  pledged  the  means  to  carry 
them  on. 

Then  Mary  suggested,  —  as  Miss  Sibyl 
would  need  so  many  helpers,  —  that  she  call 
at  once  on  Mother  West  for  advice  and  aid. 


100 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


): 


T 


On  hearing  that  this  was  a  poor  old  woman, 
living  in  an  a^^ic  of  a  tenement  house,  the 
lady's  face  expressed  strong  dissent  from  the 
suggestion. 

Mrs.  Lincoln  joined  her  daughter  in  the 
opinion  that  Mrs.  West  and  Kitty  McCosh 
would  be  valuable  helpers  in  such  a  mission, 
as  Mrs.  West  was  honored  and  loved  by  all  her 
neighbors  ;  while  Kitty's  knowledge  of  every 
woman  and  girl  in  the  neighborhood,  and  her 
magnetic  power  over  them,  would  help  her  to 
fill  up  the  school  just  as  it  did  to  clean  and 
keep  clean  the  alley  which  had  once  been  a 
nuisance  to  the  whole  ward. 

But  Miss  Sibyl  was  shocked  at  the  hought. 
"These  people  cannot  be  benefited  by  their 
equals,"  she  said.  "They  must  look  up  with 
awe  and  reverence  to  those  who  work  for  them ; 
and  that  they  will  not  do  to  the  poor  and  ig- 
norant like  themselves." 

"Mrs.  West  is  not  ignorant,"  said  Mary. 
"She  has  influenced  not  only  her  equals,  but 
many  who  are  regarded  as  her  superiors,  for 
good.  I  have  reason  to  bless  her  for  what  she 
has  done  for  me  ;  and  neither  my  parents  nor 
my  cousins  despise  her." 


Miss  Sibyl  Thome. 


lOl 


old  woman, 
house,  the 
^nt  from  the 

:hter  in  the 
tty  McCosh 
h  a  mission, 
ed  by  all  her 
ge  of  every 
)od,  and  her 
help  her  to 
o  clean  and 
nee  been  a 

the  bought 
ed  by  their 
>ok  up  with 
■  k  for  them ; 
KJor  and  ig- 

said  Mary, 
equals,  but 
periors,  for 
•r  what  she 
>arents  nor 


"  I  was  surprised  when  I  heard  of  those  peo- 
ple coming  to  your  house  to  sing,"  said  Miss 
Sibyl.  "There  is  so  much  danger  of  lifting 
them  out  of  their  place  and  making  them  im- 
pertinent. I  have  one  rule  with  my  pension- 
ers which  I  never  break.  I  will  visit  and  re- 
lieve them ;  but  they  shall  never  come  to  my 
house.  That  is  my  castle,  and  it  shall  not  be 
im'aded  by  such  people." 

"Mother  West  will  never  trouble  you  by 
visits,  and  I  advise  you  to  call  on  her  at  once 
before  going  through  our  church  with  your 
paper ;  as  ever  /body  will  suggest  that  the  first 
thing,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln. 

"Well,  I  will  call  and  get  her  to  rally  her 
neighbors  for  me,  and  perhaps  make  use  of 
the  girl  you  mention  ;  but  I  certainly  shall  not 
consult  them,  as  if  my  plans  were  not  formed 
beyond  alteration  already." 

Neither  lady  said  more  than  to  give  the  di- 
rection to  Mrs.  West's  room,  and  to  wish  Miss 
Sibyl  success  in  her  new  work,  and  she  went 
her  way. 

She  laid  the  plan  before  Mother  West,  after 
saying  with  the  tone  and  the  air  of  a  patron, 


102  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

"  I  'm  very  glad,  my  good  woman,  to  see  your 
room  so  neat  and  yourself  sc  tidy.  Poverty  is 
no  excuse  for  filth," 

A  flush  of  color  passed  over  the  usually  pale 
cheek  of  Mother  West,  but  she  took  no  notice 
of  this  rude  remark.  She  simply  asked  the 
lady  to  be  seated,  remarking  that  this  was  a 
fine  morning  for  a  wall;. 

Miss  Sibyl  opened  her  plan,  and  Mother 
West  listened  with  eager  eyes,  for  her  heart 
was  keenly  alive  to  the  wants  of  the  neglected 
poor  about  her. 

"You  will  help  me,"  said  Miss  Sibyl,  "to 
gather  in  the  women  into  a  sewing-school, 
where  we  can  give  them  religions  instruction 
at  the  same  time  we  teach  them  to  make  the 
garments  we  give  them  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  help  you. 
I  will  take  a  class,  which  I  myself  will  gather, 
and  my  little  friend  Kitty  McCosh  will  bring 
in,  and  look  after  half  a  dozen  rude  girls  who 
have  done  little  so  fai  out  play  in  the  streets," 
was  the  good  woman's  reply, 

"  We  probably  shall  jot  need  such  teachers 
as    she,"    replied    Miss  Sibyl    coldly.     "My 


■MMMMMMIMUlMMte 


""^— ■""""'—*  "■ ■■'■  "   '■"  '*•"■  •■'■'— '-•-'-■■  ■-.mriiT 


flta*^**" 


■Mm 


Miss  Sibyl  Thome, 


103 


I  to  see  your 
Poverty  is 

usually  pale 
>k  no  notice 
'  asked  the 

this  was  a 

ind  Mother 
«■  her  heart 
e  neglected 

Sibyl,  "to 

Wng-school, 

instruction 

■3  make  the 

3  help  you. 
vill  gather, 
will  bring 
■  girls  who 
e  streets," 

1  teachers 
y.     "My 


helpers  will  be  ladies,"  she  added,  with  a  look 
which  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  have 
done  it,  "you  and  this  McCosh  girl  are  not 
ladies,  and  cannot  work  among  them." 

"  Weil,  we  will  gather 'in  the  women  and  sit 
as  scholars  beside  them,  and  let  them  see  that 
we  do  not  look  down  on  them,"  replied  Mother 
West,  meekly. 

"I  can't  see  why  they  should  think  you 
would  do  so,"  said  Miss  Sibyl,  as  she  drew  a 
long  ruled  paper  —  like  a  petition  to  Congress 
—  from  the  depths  of  her  philanthropic  pocket 

"  This  is  our  pledge,  and  I  want  you  to  sign 
it,"  she  said. 

"  The  constitution,  is  it  ? " 

"  No ;  that  and  the  subscription  paper  I  oflFer 
to  ladies  who  are  to  support  the  movement 
with  money  and  effort.  The  '  pledge  'is  to  b« 
signed  by  the  women  we  take  into  the  privi- 
leges of  the  mission."  And  then  she  went  on 
to  read  a!  string  of  promises,  by  which  the 
women  entering  the  school  were  to  bind  them- 
selves not  to  drink,  nor  swear,  nor  use  tobacco 
in  any  form ;  not  to  sit  on  their  doorsteps,  or 
lean  from  their  windows  gossiping  with  their 


104 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


neighbors ;  to  keep  their  houses  and  their 
children  neat,  to  throw  no  garbage  in  the 
court,  and  to  have  their  husbands'  or  fathers' 
meals  ready  promptly  when  they  returned  from 
work ;  to  attend  worship  regularly  with  their 
families  on  the  Sabbath,  to  maintain  a  religious 
government  over  their  children,  and,  in  fact, 
to  be  perfect  housekeepers,  neighbors,  mothers, 
—  to  be  model  Christian  women  !  "  You  are 
willing  to  sign  that,  I  suppose;  and  to  ad- 
vise your  neighbors  to  do  the  same  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  I  will  sign  the  paper  saying  that  I  will  en- 
deavor to  do  all  this,  but  that  will  be  easier  for 
me  than  for  most  of  my  neighbors.  Many  of 
them  are  so  overburdened  with  work  for  others, 
that  it  is  hard  to  keep  their  own  homes  and 
little  ones  in  order.  Many  of  them  cannot  go, 
nor  take  their  families  to  the  house  of  God, 
for  want  of  decent  clothes  to  wear ;  and  still 
more  of  them  have  no  inclination  to  do  all  this 
paper  binds  them  to  do,  and  I  fear  would  make 
little  effort  to  keep  such  a  solemn  pledge." 

"Then  you  think  them  beyond  all  hope  of 
reform,  do  you  ? "  asked  Miss  Sibyl,  testily. 


Inii  r  1 1 


\ 


Miss  Sibyl  Thome. 


105 


and    their 
age  in  the 

or  fathers' 
urned  from 

with  their 

a  religious 
d,  in  fact, 
s,  mothers, 
"  You  are 
tnd  to  ad- 
me?"  she 

I  will  en- 
easier  for 
Many  of 

for  others, 

omes  and 

:annot  go, 
of  God, 
and  still 

lo  all  this 

uld  make 

ge." 
hope  of 

stily. 


"  Indeed,  I  do  not.  I  have  seen  too  great  a 
change  in  many  of  them  to  be  so  faithless. 
But  I  think  to  require  little  at  first  will  be  the 
best  way  to  gain  much  in  the  end.  I  would 
advise  that  all  this  be  requested  of  them  (as  a 
favor  to  the  teachers,  as  well  uS  right  for  them- 
selves) at  their  first  gathering." 

"Oh,  I  did  not  come  to  you  for  a  plan  to 
work  by.  This  pledge  was  drawn  up  by  myself 
with  the  sanction  of  three  or  four  other  philan- 
thropic ladies,  and  we  intend  to  carry  it  out.  I 
came  to  get  you  to  present  it  to  your  neigh- 
bors ;  will  you  do  so  ? " 

"  I  will  see  them  as  far  as  I  am  able,  and  bring 
them  to  your  first  meeting.  Many  of  them 
are  worthy  women,  dragged  down  to  the  dust 
by  miserable  husbands;  and  while  they  are 
washing  by  daybreak,  and  ironing  far  into  the 
night,  to  buy  bread  for  their  little  ones,  I 
should  hardly  like  to  make  allusion  to  their  un- 
tidy homes,  or  ask  them  to  promise  to  attend 
church  regularly  with  their  families.  If  I  had 
clothing  and  shoes  to  give  them  all,  I  might 
feel  otherwise." 

"They  must    be  very  delicate  for   people 


io6  Mother  West's  Neighbors, 

in  their  circumstances,"  replied  Miss  Sibyl, 
coldly. 

"  Some  of  them,  who  have  been  well  brought 
up,  are  so,  and  their  desire  is  to  live  respecta- 
bly. Their  self-respect  is  not  gone,  but  only 
their  inability  to  live  in  accordance  with  it 
They  are  very  sensitive,  and  shrink  from  the 
eyes  of  strangers.  They  are  not  all  coarse 
and  wicked  women,  as  you  will  see,"  said 
Mother  West. 

"  They  must  promise  to  come  neat  and  clean 
to  the  sewing-school.  They  will  be  sent  home 
at  once,  if  they  appear  there  otherwise,"  said 
the  philanthropist,  sternly. 

"I  think  you  will  have  no  trouble  on  that 
score,  madam.  Kitty  McCosh  can  suggest  this, 
kindly,  because  she  will  help  them  to  carry  it 
out.  She  will  amuse  their  babies,  run  their 
errands,  or  wash  their  dishes,  while  they  are 
washing  their  gowns,  aprons,  and  collars/'  said 
the  old  lady. 

"  PJ^iase  let  her  do  so.  But,  Mrs.  West,  you 
wU!  give  this  McCosh  girl  to  understand  that 
we  need  nothing  of  her  within  the  school,  but 
to  learn  of  her  teacher,"  said  Miss  Sibyl 


\ 


'S. 

Miss   Sibyl, 

veil  brought 
ve  respecta- 
but  only 
ice  with  it 
k  from  the 
all  coarse 
see,"  said 

tt  and  clean 

sent  home 

■wise,"  said 

lie  on  that 
Jggest  this, 
to  carry  it 
run  their 
B  they  are 
liars,"  said 

West,  you 
itand  that 
chool,  but 

yi 


Miss  Sibyl  Thome. 


107 


"She  can  do  great  good  without,  madam; 
such  good  as  few  of  her  years  "jver  accom- 
plish ;  and  I  think  she  will  work  without  of- 
fense to  either  you  or  to  her  poor  neighbors," 
was  the  reply. 

Miss  Sibyl  went  away  with  the  very  uncom- 
fortable feeling  that  Mother  West  had  placed 
herself  on  a  level  with  her,  and  would  look  on 
herself  at  one  of  the  originators,  or  at  least 
the  advisers,  of  the  movement 

"But,"  she  said  to  her  sister,  who  listened 
and  never  rebuked,  "that  is  alwaya  the  way, 
with  such  people,  'Give  them  an  inch  and 
they  '11  take  an  ell.'  She  will  soon  find  herself 
back  in  her  own  place  if  she  tries  to  get  up 
into  any  other." 

A  hall  was  hired,  money  secured  ;  and  Miss 
Sibyl,  supported  on  the  right  and  the  left  by 
kindred  spirits,  presented  herself  one  day  be- 
fore some  eighty  poor  women  to  form  a  sew- 
ing-school, as  the  first  step  in  her  work. 

But,  alas !  she  stood  there  like  Boadicea,  the 
warrior  queen,  rather  than  like  a  favored  wo- 
man before  her  less  favored  sister!  Their 
eyes  quailed  before  her,  but  their,  hearts  were 


r 


io8 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


strengthened  by  sight  of  the  piles  of  cloths 
and  flannel  which  promised  warmth  and  com- 
fort for  the  coming  winter.  Miss  Sibyl's  spirit 
was  greatly  mollified  by  seeing  Mother  West, 
with  a  great  buxom  young  girl,  whom  she  took 
to  be  Kitty  McCosh,  sitting  modestly  among 
the  women ;  and  she  said  in  her  heart, "  I 
brought  her  down  to  her  right  place ! " 

The  progress  of  "The  Mission  at  our  Door" 
will  be  the  subject  of  another  chapter. 


''•■l*>';}  ..- 


of  cloths 
and  com- 
ibyl's  spirit 
Jther  West, 
>m  she  took 
stly  among 
r  heart,  "I 
!" 
our  Door" 


X. 


"THE  MISSION   AT   OUR   DOOR. 

A  STORE,  which  had  been  altered  into  a 
hall  for  public  evening  entertainments,  of 
the  most  unpretending  order  had  been  hired 
for  Thursday  afternoons.  Pictures  and  motto 
cards  for  ornament  and  instruction  had  been 
hung  on  the  walls,  and  a  large  cutting-table, 
and  a  chest  for  holding  the  materials  and  the 
work,  showed  that  there  was  business  as  well 
as  charity  in  the  plan. 

As  is  usual  in  all  movements  for  "  charity  at 
home,"  the  people  responded  nobly  ;  and  Miss 
Sibyl's  purse  would  not  contain  the  money  she 
received.  She  had  deposited  some  of  it  in 
the  bank  before  the  school  opened,  even  after 
the  doubtful  expenditure  of  a  hundred  dollars 
for  sign  and  banner,  which  might  have  been 
deferred  till  success  was  sure. 

On  the  opening  day  of  the  school  Miss 
Sibyl  had  rallied  her  dozen  of  teachers,  se- 


umi'amiiimummmmmmiitmm 


3 


I 


Mother  Wesfs  Neighbors. 

lected  more  for  their  position,  we  fear,  than  for 
their  spirit  or  their  zeal,  and  had  written  a 
note  to  the  police  station,  requesting  that  one 
of  the  officers  might  meet  them  at  the  cor- 
ner where  they  should  leave  respectability  for 
squalor  and  vice,  and  follow  them  at  a  respect- 
ful distance  to  see  that  they  were  not  annoyed 
by  the  denizens  of  the  neighborhood  ;  and  then 
guard  the  hall  while  they  were  there. 

The  policemen  laughed  at  this  nonsense  ; 
"  a  dozen  women  being  afraid  in  broad  day- 
light, in  a  place  where  a  shout  could  be  heard 
in  a  score  of  groceries  and  workshops/'  But 
when  they  saw  Miss  Sibyl  and  her  posse,  some 
members  of  which  were  flounced  and  furbe- 
lowed,  flaunting  in  plumes  and  glittering  with 
diamonds,  they  "  did  n't  wonder  they  wanted  a 
guard." 

The  hall  was  half  full  of  women  whoie  ap- 
pearance surprised,  perhaps  disappointed.  Miss 
Sibyl.  With  half  a  score  of  miserable  excep- 
tions, the  women  were  clean  and  bore  no 
traces  of  vice.  They  were  poor;  some  of 
them  were  oppressed  and  abused,  and  had 
come  there  for  help,  sympathy,  and  a  little  sun- 


r 


'rs. 


"  The  Mission  at  our  Door." 


Ill 


■ear,  than  for 
id  written  a 
ing  that  one 
at  the  cor- 
ectability  for 
at  a  respect- 
not  annoyed 
)d ;  and  then 
re. 

nonsense ; 
broad  day- 
Id  be  heard 
ihops."  But 
posse,  some 
[  and  furbe- 
ittering  with 
ey  wanted  a 

ti  whose  ap- 
ointed,  Miss 
rable  excep- 
id  bore  no 
■ ;  some  of 
1,  and  had 
a  little  sun- 


shine ;  while  a  few  needed  no  help,  but  had 
joined  the  school  to  show  their  less  fortunate 
neighbors  that  it  was  not  "  a  i  mper  affair,"  as 
the  paper  which  was  read  to  them,  and  which 
very  few  of  them  had  been  willing  to  sign,  had 
led  them  to  suspect. 

Their  names  and  residences  were  all  put 
down  in  a  book,  a  step  which  made  some  of  the 
less  virtuous  a  little  suspicious ;  a  blue  badge 
with  "  M.  A.  O.  D."  in  gilt  letters  was  pinned 
to  their  shoulders,  and  must  be  worn  going  and 
coming  to  the  school,  to  let  people  know  to 
whom  they  belonged ! 

One  "  very  rough  woman "  declined  the 
badge,  saying  she  "  did  n't  care  to  be  collared 
like  a  dog  ; "  while  most  of  them  accepted  the 
harmless  thing,  either  to  wear  or  to  carry  away 
in  their  pockets. 

A  policeman  looked  in,  saw  no  danger,  and 
went  on  his  round.  But  very  soon  after  the 
opening  exercises  Miss  Sibyl  saw  a  mob  at  the 
door,  and  faces  pressed  up  against  the  glass ! 
So  with  two  of  her  older  helpers  she  went  out, 
and  in  a  trembling  tone  warned  away  those 
she  had    regarded    as    Catholic    persecutors. 


112 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


There  was  a  cripple  covered  with  shoe-strings, 
a  little  black  dwarf,  two  or  three  women  with 
babies  in  their  arms,  and  half  a  dozen  children 
—  a  formidable  mob  indeed  I 

"  My  good  people,  we  have  nothing  to  eat 
here,  we  are  only  teaching  poor  women  to 
sew,"  said  Miss  Sibyl,  in  a  tone  which  showed 
that  she  was  ashamed  of  her  foolish  fears. 
"  Go  away  now,  go  away  I "  she  added  in  a 
coaxing  voice. 

"  I  thought  this  'ad  been  Mrs.  West's  school," 
said  the  shoe-string  man,  "  and  I  cam'  to  ask 
her  would  she  haccept  a  gross  o'  shoe-strings 
to  'elp  make  'er  poor  folk  decent,  ma'am." 

"  Mrs.  West  is  only  one  of  our  scholars,  good 
man,  but  if  you  wish  to  make  us  a  donation  we 
shall  accept  it  very  gladly,"  said  the  lady. 

So  the  old  man  pulled  bunch  after  bunch  of 
the  strings  from  his  shoulder,  over  which  they 
hung,  and  passed  them  to  Miss  Sibyl;  who 
taking  them,  rewarded  the  sacrifice  with,  "  Go 
away  now,  my  good  man!"  And  away  he 
went. 

Then  the  queer  little  black  man  —he  whom 
Mother  West  had  glorified  by  the  name  of 


«MIIWMIIMiiainM*!*'*<W"<"" 


"  The  Mission  at  our  Door." 


113 


Ishoe-strings, 
I  women  with 
jzen  chUdren 

hing  to  eat 
"  women  to 
lich  showed 
)olish  fears, 
added  in  a 

sst's  school," 
cam'  to  ask 

shoe-strings 
a'am." 

holars,  good 
donation  we 
:  lady. 

2r  bunch  of 
which  they 
5ibyl;  who 
with,  "  Go 
I  away  he 

-  he  whom 
name  of 


"Beautiful  Tommy"  —  looked  up  eagerly  in 
her  face,  and  asked,  "  Has  n't  you  got  some- 
thing for  me  to  do,  missus  ?  I  loves  to  work 
for  de  Lord." 

We  fear  that  Miss  Sibyl  was  struck  for  the 
first  time  with  the  idea  that  this  work  was  for 
the  Lord.  "  You  can't  sew,  can  you,  my  poor 
fellow  ? "  she  asked. 

"  No,  not  women's  way !  but  I  can  sweep 
and  dust  de  hall,  and  run  yer  errands ;  and  if 
dere's  any  woman  in  dar  wid  frettysom  chil'n 
dat  dey  could  n't  leave  to  home,  I  'U  watch  'em 
on  de  sidewalk  here." 

"  I  can't  have  the  school  made  a  nursery,  my 
poor  man  ;  but  I  '11  tell  you  what  you  nmy  do  : 
you  may  go  to  my  house,  10  Waldron  Terrace 
and  ask  the  lady  there  to  send  my  reticule, 
which  I  forgot.  But  wait  first,  —  how  shall  I 
know  you  are  honest,  and  will  bring  it  to  me  ? " 

"  Ask  Mrs.  West ! "  cried  Tommy,  triumph- 
antly. Miss  Sibyl  did  so,  and  the  reply  was, 
"  He 's  honest  as  the  day,  and  one  of  the 
noblest  men  alive  I " 

Sibyl  smiled,  and  let  "  the  noble  man  "  do 
her  errand. 


114 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


Scarcely  had  Tommy  waddled  off,  when  the 
thought  flashed  across  her  mind  that  such  a 
strange-looking  —  she  called  it  '"horrid-look- 
ing"—  man  coming  suddenly  on  peor,  weak 
Miss  Thorne,  without  any  written  order  for  the 
reticule,  might  alarm  her.  So  in  great  haste 
she  sent  Kitty  McCosh  after  him  with  an  as- 
surance of  hib  good  character,  to  her  sister. 

Tommy  soon  appeared  at  the  school  with  the 
reticule;  but  Kitty  was  seen  there  no  more 
that  day.  ^ 

In  her  usually  sociable  way,  Kitty  had  stopped 
to  make  Miss  Thorne  a  call,  and  give  her  an 
account  of  the  way  in  which  the  school  had 
been  gathered  in  so  short  a  time.  "  I  thought 
it  would  take  half  the  season  to  get  as  many 
women,"  Miss  Thorne  had  said  to  Kitty.  "  So 
it  would,  if  we  had  n't  taken  right  hold  and 
done  it  ourselves.  Such  folks  are  shy  of  la- 
dies, especially  if  they  think  they  mean  to  boss 
them,"  was  the  inelegant  reply  of  Kitty.  "  One 
of  them  flared  up  like  a  rocket,"  she  added, 
"because  one  of  the  ladies  who  visited  her 
wanted  to  look  into  her  pantry  and  pot-closet, 
and  told  her  they  should  come  round  at  odd 


W<M«*»'»i!»t;niii"jitoi-» 


'  —  .iiiMlltawtwwiaiMitiaiiiiiWuiilMiiitii^ 


1 


fort. 

off,  when  the 
that  such  a 
"horrid-look- 
Jn  peor,  weak 
order  for  the 
n  great  haste 
n  with  an  as- 
her  sister. 
:hool  with  the 
lere  no  more 

y  had  stopped 
give  her  an 
e  school  had 
"  I  thought 
get  as  many 
Kitty.    "  So 
ht  hold  and 
re  shy  of  la- 
nean  to  boss 
^itty.     "One 
"  she  added, 
visited  her 
d  pot-closet, 
)und  at  odd 


"  TAe  MissioH  at  our  Door." 


i'5 


limes  and  see  whose  house  was  the  neatest, 
and  give  a  premium.  This  woman  is  p."»or,  but 
she 's  good,  and  knows  a  good  deal.  Her  hus- 
band don't  do  right;  and  she's  got  a  sick 
child.  She  said  that  lady  talked  just  as  the 
English  ladies  do  in  the  story  books,  as  if  poor 
people  were  children  to  be  watched  and  scolded, 
and  had  no  self-respect.  But  I  helped  her  '  fix 
up,'  and  Mrs.  West's  daughter  took  her  sick 
child  home  for  a  change,  and  she's  having  a 
lovely  time  at  the  school !  She  cried  when 
they  sang  the  first  hymn,  it  made  her  think  of 
hct-  old  home  so,  and  she  was  so  glad  to  get 
out  of  that  one  dull  room.  I  think  it's  real 
hard  for  any  one  to  be  good  who  is  shut  up  so, 
and  works  so  hard,  and  has  nobody  to  love 
them,  don't  you  ? " 

Miss  Thome  sighed,  and  said  "  yes."  Poor 
thing,  although  she  had  a  neat  home  and  plenty 
to  eat,  she  could  enter  into  the  feelings  of  these 
desolate  workers.  She  wrought  more,  accord- 
ing to  her  strength,  and  was  more  shut  out 
from  anything  that  was  cheerful,  than  half  the 
women  in  "  The  Mission  at  our  Door ; "  and 
she  had  n't  the  poor  relief  that  most  of  them 
had  in  "  scolding  out  their  troubles." 


Il6 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


"I  like  you  better  than  your  sister,"  said 
Kitty,  innocently,  gazing  into  Miss  Thome's 
kind  eyes.  "Why  don't  you  come  to  the 
school  to  teach  ? " 

"  That  shows  how  little  you  know  of  us,  my 
child,"  said  Miss  Thorne.  "  My  sister  is  al- 
ways on  the  wing,  blessing  somebody ;  but 
I  'm  a  poor,  frail  creature,  scarcely  able  to  take 
care  of  myself.  When  the  little  work  of  the 
house,  is  done  (or  rather  half  done,  for  I  never 
finish  it  to  my  view),  I  'm  worn  out,  and  ready 
for  bed.  So  I  can  do  little  for  myself  or  any- 
body else.  These  parlors  should  have  been 
swept  to-day  ;  but  I  did  n't  feel  quite  equal  to 
the  effort." 

"  Where 's  your  broom  ? "  cried  Kitty,  spring- 
ing from  her  chair  and  turning  up  the  skirt  of 
her  pink  calico  gown.  "  How  I  should  love  to 
sweep  such  a  handsome  carpet !  " 

"  Oh,  we  could  n't  do  that  in  the  afternoon ! 
Some  one  might  ring  while  we  were  all  in  con- 
fusion," said  Miss  Thorne. 

"  Well,  if  they  did  we  would  n't  let  them  in," 
replied  Kitty,  innocently  ;  for  she  did  not  know 
that  half  the  rings  at  that  door  were  never 
answered  t 


jA.aBflP*'"" 


pors. 

[r  sister,"  said 
Hss  Thome's 
come   to  the 

now  of  us,  my 
/  sister  is  al- 
>mebody ;  but 
y  able  to  take 
;  work  of  the 
le,  for  I  never 
out,  and  ready 
nyself  or  any- 
ild  have  been 
quite  equal  to 

Kitty,  spring- 
ip  the  skirt  of 
should  love  to 

lie  afternoon  f 
ere  all  in  con- 
let  them  in," 
did  not  know 
were  never 


"  The  Mission  at  our  Door." 


"7 


Before  poor  little  Miss  Thome  could  rally 
force  to  resist,  Kitty  had  found  the  broom  and 
was  calling  for  sheets  to  cover  the  fine  things, 
—  for  plain  as  they  seemed  to  Miss  Sibyl,  they 
were  very  grand  in  poor  Kitty's  eyes. 

That  carpet  had  not  felt  such  a  vigorous 
hand  for  many  a  year  ;  and  when  Miss  Thome, 
who  had  been  banished  from  the  dust,  was 
called  back,  she  could  hardly  believe  that  the 
work  was  well  done.  But  on  examining,  as  she 
was  urged  to  do,  every  nook  and  cranny,  she 
was  satisfied. 

Next  came  the  silk  duster,  the  feather  brush, 
and  the  other  devices  which  the  prim  little 
lady  had  for  ferreting  out  every  particle  of 
dust ;  and  soon  piano,  sofas,  chairs,  tables, 
what-nots,  and  their  burden  of  knickknacks  all 
shone  with  new  brightness  ;  and  yet  Kitty  was 
as  fresh  as  if  just  from  her  humble  pillow. 

"  There ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  this  is  just  the 
way  I  fix  up  our  neighbors  when  they  are  busy 
or  sick  ;  only,"  she  added,  recollecting  herself, 
"  they  have  n't  half  such  nice  things  to  fix  with. 
Is  n't  there  anything  else  you  want  done  ? " 

"  Not  to-day,  thank  you,  unless  on  your  way 


■ 


ii8 


Mother  Wes(s  Ntighbors. 


home  you  would  just  carry  a  red  flannel  night- 
gown I've  been  making  to  a  poor  child  in 
Apple  Street,  -r-  but  then,  if  you  did,  I  'd  like 
you  never  to  mention  it.  The  child's  mother 
is  a  poor,  shiftless  creature,  and  might  keep  it 
comfortable  if  she  would.  Some  people  think 
shiftless  folks  ought  not  to  be  helped,  but 
surely  their  poor  children  ought  not  to  suffer. 
But  don't  tell  of  this." 

"  I  '11  carry  it,  and  maybe  I  might  draw  the 
sick  child  out  in  a  wagon  some  day ;  sick  chil- 
dren get  so  tired  of  the  house  !  I  draw  Jane 
Carr's  baby  round  to  pay  for  the  use  of  her 
wagon  to  draw  other  babies  in." 

"  But  don't  you  go  to  school,  or  have  any- 
thing to  do,  child  ? "  asked  Miss  Thome. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  go'  to  school,  and  earn  nearly  all 
my  own  clothes  beside,  by  sewing  buttons  on 
to  cards.  But  I  do  this  in  my  play  time,"  said 
Kitty. 

When  Kitty  went  away.  Miss  Thome  could 
not  help  pressing  a  kiss  on  her  hard,  rosy 
cheek,  and  as  she  did  so  she  slipped  a  bright 
hair-ribbon  into  her  hand,  saying,  "I  shall 
want  you  to  come  again,  for  you  've  made  me 


i 


n 


iannel  night- 
or  child  in 
did,  I  'd  like 
ild's  mother 
ight  keep  it 
people  think 
helped,  but 
not  to  suffer. 

3^ht  draw  the 

ly;  sick  chil- 

I  draw  Jane 

e  use  of  her 

or  have  any- 
home. 

fim  nearly  all 
I  buttons  on 
ly  time,"  said 

'home  could 
T  hard,  rosy 
)ed  a  bright 
ig,  "I  shall 
fe  made  me 


«« TAe  Mission  at  our  Doorr         1 19 

feel  as  if  I  had  been  to  your  home  and  among 
your  neighbors.  I  almost  feel  as  it  I  had 
helped  in  cleaning  up  GuptU  Alley !  The  next 
time  you  draw  out  a  baby,  bring  it  here  to  see 
nie.    Good-by!   God  bless  you,  my  dear,  good 

child ! " 

When  Kitty  had  deposited  her  red  flannel 
night-gown,  she  looked  at  the  great  clock  in 
the  tower  of  St.  John's  church,  and  saw  to  her 
amazement  that  the  afternoon  was  nearly  gone. 
So  she  ran  home  to  her  buttons,  quite  as  bright 
and  happy  as  if  she  had  been  all  the  time  at 
"  The  Mission  at  our  Door." 

When  tea  was  over   she  went  into    Mrs. 
West's  to  get  the  news  from  the  school. 

"Why,  Kitty,  chUd,  what  became  of  you?" 
asked  her  friend. 

Oh,  I  ran  an  errand,  you  know,"  replied 
Kitty,  laughing.    "  What  for  a  school  did  you 

have?" 

"  A  very  pleasant  one.  The  ladies  sang  and 
talked  very  kindly  to  us;  but  wlxcr.  they  began 
to  cut  work,  they  did  n't  know  how,  poor  things  I 
A  garment  for  a  woman  had  sleeves  for  a  child ; 
and  the  skirts  had  bands  big  enough  to  take  in 


i 


120  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

two  women  at  once.  But  they  saw  it ;  and  one 
of  them  said  she  would  hire  a  dressmaker  to 
come  with  her  next  time !  I  volunteered  as 
modestly  as  I  could  to  help  that  young  lady 
with  the  bird  in  her  hat,  and  she  was  very 
glad.  They  all  saw  I  was  at  home  with  my 
scissors,  and  they  asked  me  to  be  one  of  their 
cutters,"  replied  Mother  West. 

"Then  you  shall  have  your  name  down 
among  the  grand  ones,"  cried  Kitty,  "  You 
shall  not  do  the  work  and  give  them  all  the 
credit!" 

"  Little  I  care  for  that,  Kitty ;  but  I  think  if 
I  'm  there  at  the  cutting-table  the  poor  misera- 
ble ones  will  feel  freer  than  if  they  had  to  go 
to  one  of  those  fine  ladies,  who  knows  poverty 
and  sorrow  only  by  name.  But  where  h?ve  you 
been,  child,  that  you  did  not  come  back  ? " 

"  I  've  been  away  forming  myself  a  new 
'  Mission  at  our  Door,' "  replied  Kitty,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  but  I  can't  tell  you  where." 


mam 


it ;  and  one 
:ssniaker  to 
nteered  as 
[young  lady 
was  very 
Je  with  my 
)ne  of  their 

ame  down 
ty.  "  You 
em  all  the 

It  I  think  if 
oor  misera- 
f  had  to  go 
>ws  poverty 
e  hpve  you 
ack?" 
-If    a  new 
tty,  laugh- 


J. 


XI. 


MISS   SIBYL  AND  MRS.   CLAPPER. 

THE  glory  of  "  The  Mission  at  our  Door " 
like  that  of  the  mission  for  organ  grind- 
ers, had  faded  before  Miss  Sibyl  Thome's  eye, 
and  its  poetry  turned  to  sober  prose,  before  the 
spring  term  closed. 

At  the  last  session  that  lady  laid  out  her 
grievances  in  due  form  before  the  women,  ex- 
pressing more  than  a  doubt  as  to  whether  they 
would  ever  gather  there  again  in  the  same 
capacity. 

"  The  ladies,"  she  said,  "  are  thoroughly  dis- 
heartened by  the  disrespect  of  some  of  the 
women,  the  greediness  of  others.  One  woman 
had  addressed  her  as  '  You  dear  soul ; '  another 
had  demanded  a  dark  calico  dress  in  place  of 
the  pink  one  offered  her ;  a  third  had  taken  of- 
fense when  questioned  about  not  keeping  her 
home  in  better  order ;  and  several  had  mani- 


f^ 


122 


Mother  West's  Neighbors, 


fested  a  spirit  of  independence  quite  ridiculous 
in  persons  needing  help." 

Miss  Sibyl  also  said  that  it  had  been  her  in- 
tention to  shake  hands  with  every  woman  at 
parting;  but  she  did  not  feel  that  their  con- 
duct as  a  whole  would  entitle  them  to  that  act 
of  friendship ! 

If  this  had  been  a  gathering  of  oppressed 
laborers'  wives  and  paupers  in  England,  and 
Miss  Sibyl  had  been  a  patronizing  duchess,  it 
might  have  passed  off  very  well.  But  there  is 
in  the  breast  of  the  poorest  American  woman 
a  feeling  of  self-respect  which  cannot  be 
crushed  out  by  the  gift  of  a  new  gown  or  a 
bag  of  flour.  These  words  were  as  a  match  to 
the  magazine  of  pride  in  a  score  of  poor  hearts 
there,  which  manifested  itself  in  different  ways 
according  to  the  temperament  of  the  women. 

Several  of  them  cried  and  sobbed  as  if  their 
hearts  were  sorely  wounded  ;  but  others  spoke 
to  their  neighbors  words  of  defiance  and  scorn. 
" '  Deed  then,  nobody  axed  her  to  bring  us  here 
to  taach  us  to  sew  and  to  sing ! "  cried  an  angry 
Hibernian,  adding,  "  She 's  not  such  a  dale 
richer  nor  we,  but  only  a  dale  prouder ! " 


Miss  Sibyl  and  Mrs.  Clapper.         123 


ite  ridiculous 

been  her  in- 
y  woman  at 
t  their  con- 
n  to  that  act 

>f  oppressed 
England,  and 
I  duchess,  it 
But  there  is 
rican  woman 
cannot    be 
f  gown  or  a 
s  a  match  to 
poor  hearts 
fferent  ways 
»e  women, 
d  as  if  their 
thers  spoke 
;  and  scorn, 
■ing  us  here 
Jd  an  angry 
ich  a  dale 
er!" 


"Ye 're  right,"  replied  her  neighbor,  with  a 
scornful  laugh.  "  They  says  that  she  kapes  no 
gerl  any  more  than  ourselves,  only  she 's  got  an 
angel  of  a  poor  sick  sister  as  drudges  for  her, 
and  that's  why  her  house  is  in  better  order 
than  ours  is  !     Small  bit  o'  a  lady  is  she  I " 

"  I  wish  from  my  heart  I  had  never  accepted 
the  cloth  I  have  made  up  here,  and  if  my  life 
is  spared  I  '11  return  it,"  said  a  hard-working 
Yankee  woman  in  an  indignant  tone.  "  I  'm 
poor  but  I  'm  honest,  and  no  one  shall  twit 
my  boys  of  having  a  beggar  for  a  mother ! " 

"  I  'm  glad  the  school  is  done,  for  I  'm  sick  of 
being  called  '  My  good  woman"  as  if  I  had  n't 
any  name,"  said  another  poor,  crushed-looking 
American  woman.  "The  cloth  I  made  up 
came  from  Miss  Lincoln  —  there  she  comes 
now  ;  look  !  on  the  platform  —  see,  she 's  tak- 
ing off  her  gloves  to  play  for  us  ! " 

There  was  a  group  on  the  platform  discuss- 
ing the  best  way  to  quell  the  confusion,  while 
Miss  Sibyl,  thoroughly  disheartened,  had  sunk 
on  to  the  sofa  in  tears,  sobbing,  "This  is  all 
the  thanks  I  've  got  for  all  my  toil !  " 

Just  then  a  tall,  fair-hiiired  woman  rose  and 


124 


Mother  West's  Neighbors. 


asked  if  she  might  .say  a  few  words.  "Cer- 
tainly," said  two  or  three  voices  from  the  plat- 
form, among  which  were  those  of  Mary  Lin- 
coln and  Mother  West,  the  latter  of  whom  had 
now  by  her  skill  and  good  judgment  taken  her 
place  among  "  the  ladies." 

"The  friend  who  wishes  to  speak  is  Mrs. 
Clapper,  a  neighbor  of  mine  and  a  friend  of 
this  school,"  Mrs.  West  said,  in  a  tone  low  and 
yet  distinctly  heard  all  over  the  hall. 

Then  Mrs.  Clapper  .said,  "I  am  the  woman 
who  asked  for  a  dark  calico  in  place  of  a  pink 
one  ;  and  I  wish  to  say  there  was  no  insolence 
meant  by  that  request.  I  wanted  to  have  a 
gown  I  could  work  in,  after  giving  so  many 
hours  to  making  it.  I  have  much  to  thank 
this  school  for,  and  so  have  many  others  who 
may  forget  it  now. 

"  I  once  had  a  good  home  and  loving  friends 
far  up  among  the  White  Hills.  I  taught  the 
village  school  and  was  beloved  by  all  my  schol- 
ars ;  and  their  parents  little  dreamed  that  ever 
I  should  live  in  one  room  in  Guptil  Alley !  I 
took  one  false  step  and  that  led  me  into  dark- 
ness.   I  thought  every  other  step  was  down; 


''''i^??*l?'>W^a.gg*'''*''!???-^^ 


Miss  Sibyl  and  Mrs.  Clapper.        125 


)rds.  "  Cer- 
)m  the  plat- 
Mary  Lin- 
Y  whom  had 
nt  taken  her 

>eak  is  Mrs. 
a  friend  of 
one  low  and 

the  woman 
ce  of  a  pink 

10  insolence 
i  to  have  a 
ng  so  many 
:h  to  thank 

others  who 

ntig  friends 
taught  the 

11  my  schol- 
d  that  ever 
il  Alley  I  I 

into  dark- 
was  down; 


and  I  fought  against  all  my  surroundings  to 
avoid  going  down  still  further,  and  to  keep  my 
child  from  being  dragged  down.  I  forgot  that 
the  same  step  on  the  ladder  which  led  me  down 
was  there  to  lead  me  up,  if  I  turned  and  put 
my  foot  upon  it.  When  my  good  neighbor, 
Mrs.  West,  asked  me  in  to  her  little  meetings,  I 
would  not  go ;  I  never  went  to  any  meeting  lest 
it  would  remind  me  of  old  days  and  make  me 
wild;  but  I  had  no  fear  of  a  school  where  I 
could  be  helped  to  clothes,  and  find  sympathy, 
and  have  two  cheerful  hours  in  the  week.  This 
school  has  been  a  great  blessing  to  me,  and  I 
know  it  has  been  the  same  to  others.  I  hope  it 
will  not  be  given  up.  If  one  lady  is  discour- 
aged, all  need  not  be  !  Let  these  ladies  agree 
to  hold  on,  and  many  of  the  poorest  women 
here  will  lend  their  help.'  I  am  skillful  with  my 
needle  and  my  shears,  and  I  will  cut  work  half 
a  day  every  week,  if  I  sit  up  by  night  to  make 
up  my  time  on  my  poorly  paid  sewing.  The 
kind  words  I  have  had  from  some  ladies  here 
have  lifted  me  into  life  and  hope  again ;  and 
I  want  to  work  here  for  others  just  like  my- 
self.   I  had  almost  forgotten  there  was  a  God, 


i 


^^^^p^^^^^fti/^^f^* 


iMlfe. 


I 


126 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


\  ' 


when,  on  the  first  opening  of  this  school,  we 
sang,— 

'  One  there  is  above  all  others 
Well  deserves  the  name  of  friend ; ' 

and  I  want  to  hear  more  of  Him  here,  and  to 
return  to  Him,  and  to  do  some  good  in  the 
world.  I  cannot  tell  these  ladies  how  grateful 
I  am  for  their  kindness  ;  but  I  cannot  believe 
it  is  wise  in  any  of  them  to  go  to  the  homes  of 
the  poor  and  pry  into  al*  their  little  affairs, 
as  some  of  these  women  say  ladies  do.  If 
they  get  lessons  of  order  and  neatness  here, 
they  will  practice  them  at  home.  I,  who  live 
among  them,  see  the  change  already." 

Both  platform  and  benches  were  pleased  and 
pacified  by  Mrs.  Clapper's  remarks  ;  and  her 
neighbors  whispered,  "  She  and  Mrs.  West  is 
friends  we  need  not  be  ashamed  to  own. 
They  're  as  wise  as  the  ladies  themselves." 

Kitty  McCosh  had  kept  np  her  private  min- 
istry over  Miss  Thome's  affairs;  '.\:<'  by  a 
silent  understanding  it  had  remaii.  s:  xret 
between  them.  Miss  Thome  had  <  it-^  told 
Kitty  that  if  she  could  only  ride  there,  nothing 
would  please  her   better   than  going  to  the 


^■mmmmmmmmi 


trf. 

Is  school,  we 

|friend ; ' 

here,  and  to 
good  in  the 
how  grateful 
innot  believe 

the  homes  of 
little  affairs, 

idies  do.     If 

eatness  here, 
I,  who  live 

dy." 

e  pleased  and 
ks  ;  and  her 
Mrs.  West  is 
led    to  own. 
iSelves." 
private  min- 
;  fin<l   by  a 
ii.f\i        c'cret 
d  tu-fi  told 
lere,  notiiing 
oing  to  the 


Miss  Sibyl  and  Mrs.  Clapper.        127 

school  regularly,  if  only  to  look  and  smile  on 
those  poor  disheartened  toilers.  Kitty  had 
told  this  to  Miss  Mary  Lincoln,  and  she  now 
volunteered  to  bring  Miss  Thome  to  tho  school 
every  week  the  coming  year.  Miss  Thome 
could  open  the  school  as  hone  of  the  others 
could,  and  they  would  relieve  her  of  all  work. 

A  new  committee  was  chosen,  with  the  gen- 
tle Miss  Thome  at  its  head,  although  Miss 
Sibyl  declared  that  if  the  women  treated  her 
sister  as  they  had  done  herself,  they  would  kill 
her  in  a  month. 

Mrs.  West's  daughter  and  Mrs.  Clapper  were 
put  upon  the  cutting  committee,  and  Mrs.  West 
and  Kitty  McCosh  were  appointed  visitors, 
because  they  knew  the  women  who  ought  to 
be  gathered  in  ;  Mary  Lincoln  and  some  three 
or  four  other  young  girls  who  had  access  to 
large  purses  at  home  volunteered  to  supply 
materials  for  the  next  year,  and  to  help  such  as 
really  needed  help,  in  other  ways. 

The  poor  women,  hearing  this,  settled  down 
again  in  their  seats,  their  faces  bright  with 
smiles,  one  of  their  number  remarking,  "  It  is 
just  an  old  angel  Mrs.  West  is  and  a  young 


128 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


one  yon  Miss  Lincoln  is."  Singing  and  play- 
ing cheered  their  hearts,  and  they  were  all 
nearly  as  happy  as  if  no  squall  had  struck  their 
little  bark,  when  a  colored  man  came  in,  laden 
with  flowers  from  Mr.  Lincoln's  conservatory. 
There  was  a  bouquet  for  every  woman  there, 
and  a  little  parian  vase  to  hold  it. 

Neither  bread  nor  garments  could  have  done 
the  work  of  those  flowers  just  then.  They 
were. a  proof  that  Mary  Lincoln,  at  least,  ac- 
knowledged that  the  'i  omen  were  something 
more  than  beggars,  —  that  they  were  sisters 
with  tastes  like  her  own. 

Miss  Sibyl  relented,  and  at  the  parting,  as 
the  women  flled  past  the  desk  to  shake  hands 
with  the  other  ladies,  she  gave  them  her  hand, 
remarking  now  and  then  that  she  hoped  they 
would  not  kill  her  poor  sister  next  winter,  and 
also  that  she  was  about  to  open  a  day  mission 
for  the  babies  of  working  women,  —  babies  were 
never  ungrateful  or  independent,  —  and  that  if 
any  of  them  wished  their  infants  taken  care  of 
while  out  washing,  they  could  get  their  names 
recorded  by  calling  on  Miss  Cutler,  at  7 
Downer  Avenue.  Another  "  society "  had 
taken  possession  of  the  poor  woman's  brain  1 


r!«r<>.>^'«Rn«nRi!|idi9i 


n'iiiiiiiiiiiiriii 


msmm 


»ij.»iiiiii,ii!M,iniiy. 


JupflllUJi.lllll 


bars. 

ging  and  play- 
they  were  all 
[ad  struck  their 
came  in,  laden 

conservatory. 

woman  there, 

ould  have  done 
t  then.  They 
n,  at  least,  ac- 
rere  something 
y  were  sisters 

the  parting,  as 
to  shake  hands 
them  her  hand, 
jhe  hoped  they 
lext  winter,  and 

a  day  mission 
,  —  babies  were 
t,  —  and  that  if 
s  taken  care  of 
et  their  names 

Cutler,  at  7 
'  society  "  had 
man's  brain  I 


Miss  Sibyl  and  Mrs.  Clapper.        129 

^  "The  Mission  at  our  Door"  would  have 
fallen  dead,  had  not  others  now  taken  it  in 
charge.    As  it  was,  it  lives  and  thrives. 

Its  work  was  not  laid  aside  even  then,  to 
wait  for  autumn  winds  to  blow  it  into  life 
again.  The  constitution  was  changed  and 
shortened,  and  the  helpers  were  brought  into 
a  closer  and  more  sisterly  relation  to  each 
other.  There  was  no  longer  a  lady  patroness 
on  one  side,  and  washer-women,  drunkards' 
wives,  and  thriftless  mothers  on  the  other. 
They  were  favored  Christian  women  aiding, 
cheering,  and  blessing  unfortunate  and  erring 
sisters.  The  helpers  visited  and  wrought  for 
those  who  needed  assistance  all  through  the 
summer ;  and  many  a  poor  attic  was  exchanged 
for  a  tidy  chamber  ;  many  a  distracted  mother 
encouraged  to  new  hope  and  energy ;  and  more 
than  one  led  from  vice  to  virtue.  And  as  Je- 
sus wrought  among  and  with  the  lowly,  so 
these  blessed  women  are  working  to-day  in  His 
spirit ;  and  "  The  Mission  at  our  Door "  is  a 
blessing  to  the  city  whose  fair  daughters  sus- 
tain it,  as  well  as  a  means  of  leading  many  of 
that  neglected  class, "  the  poor  anc)  proud,"  into 
the  new  and  nobler  life  in  Christ.  7 


.itiWiiiUliiwM'iiiiriifc' 


*!.:   UI!ili-il,ii,HP,li 


.--ifc. 


I^A' 


XII. 


THE  LANDLORD. 


npWO  gentlemen  were  sitting  one  evening 
*■  before  a  glowing  fire  in  a  richly  furnished 
library,  talking  on  business  matters.  One  of 
them  was  a  fine-looking  elderly  person,  with 
flowing  locks  touched  with  silver,  and  kind 
gray  eyes  whose  glance  disproved  the  charge 
of  heartlessness,  so  commonly  laid  at  the  door 
of  the  very  rich. 

His  companion  was  a  much  younger  man, 
tall,  pale,  and  with  a  shadow  of  sadness  almost 
painful  on  his  fine  face. 

When  account-books  and  papers  were  laid 
aside  the  old  gentleman  said  kindly, "  Sit  down, 
Mr.  Joy.  I  want  to  ask  you  two  or  i  "-ee 
questions  about  this  change  in  Guptil  Alley. 
Ever  since  I  have  held  real  estate,  I  have  no- 
ticed that  when  a  piece  of  property  began  to 
run  down,  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  help 
it.    Down  it  would  go,  just  as  sure  as  a  ball 


The  Landlord. 


131 


g  one  evening 
ichly  furnished 
liters.  One  of 
y  person,  with 
Iver,  and  kind 
ved  the  charge 
aid  at  the  door 

:  younger  man, 
sadness  almost 

apers  were  Itud 
idly, "  Sit  down, 

I  two  or  \  "-ee 

II  Guptil  Ailey. 
itate,  I  have  no- 
operty  began  to 
I  trying  to  help 
s  sure  as  a  ball 


would  from  the  house-top;  every  change  of 
tenants  was  for  the  worse,  worthy  mechanics 
and  honest  laborers  fleeing  from  their  coarse 
new  neighbors,  and  leaving  room  for  more  of 
the  same  class.     I  have  been  actually  ashamed 
of  being  known  as  the  owner  of  Guptil  Alley, 
and  was  about  putting  the  place  under  the 
auctioneer's    hammer,    when    that    marvelous 
child  came  here  urging  me  to  sustain  her  in 
her  efforts  at  cleaning  and  keeping  it  clean !    I 
painted  and    papered   and    set  glass,  hoping 
against  hope,  mainly  to  please  her,  for  I  never 
saw  such  f")od  sense  and  energy  combined  in 
any  young  person  before.    I  said  to  her,  after 
promising  to  aid  her, '  My  child,  you  can't  work 
miracles ! '" 

"♦Yes,  sir,  I  can,'  she  said.  ' Mother  West 
works  miracles,  and  if  I'm  as  good  and  as 
lovin'  as  she,  I  can  work  them  too!  You 
should  see  the  swearin'  men  that  pray  now,  and 
the  careless  women  that  are  neat  and  tidy.' 
And  so  she  went  on,  with  her  eyes  and  cheeks 
glowing.  I  really  believe  the  child  has  accom- 
plished her  work.  I  never  was  so  astonished 
in  my  life,  as  at  the  change  in  that  place.    It  is 


f|  lit 


*"t. 


J.^. 


132 


Mother  IVesfs  Neighbors. 


true,  as  you  say,  that  my  property  has  grown 
<tn  value  since  Mrs.  West  moved  there,  and  I 
shall  cheerfully  accede  to  your  wishes  in  this 
matter.  When  Eiaine  moves  out,  you  may 
have  the  parlors  of  that  house  remodeled  so 
as  to  please  the  people,  for  hall  or  chapel  —  as 
you  please  to  call  it.  Put  in  a  desk,  a  clock, 
good  gas-fixtures,  and  make  it  attractive  for 
their  schools,  concerts,  and  temperance-meet- 
ings ;  all  of  which  I  shall  gladly  help  to  sus- 
tain. Yes,  Mr.  Joy,"  continued  the  landlord, 
laying  his  hand  kindly  on  the  shoulder  of  the 
other,  and  looking  in  his  face,  "  there  have  in- 
deed been  miracles  wrought  among  my  poor 
tenants  and  their  neighbors  I " 

"Among  which  my  case  is  the  chief  I"  x- 
claimed  Mr.  Joy ;  "  a  miracle  of  grace  I " 

"  Yes,  I  never  saw  such  a  transformation ; 
and  I  can  truly  say  I  rejoice  in  it  as  if  you 
were  my  own  son.  Ah  !  Joy,  your  father  and 
I  had  many  merry,  happy  days  together.  I 
had  often  thought  of  trying  to  save  you  for 
his  sake.  But  your  case  was  so  hopeless.  I 
had  no  heart  to  begin ;  and  so  I  never  did," 
said  the  landlord. 


_u^ 


>ors. 

rty  has  grown 

i  there,  and  I 

wishes  in  this 

out,  you  may 

remodeled  so 

or  chapel  —  as 

desk,  a  clock, 

attractive  for 

iperance-meet- 

y  help  to  sus- 

[  the  landlord, 

ihoulder  of  the 

there  have  in- 

nong  my  poor 

he  chief!"  x- 
grace  I " 
ransformation ; 
in  it  as  if  you 
our  father  and 
s  together.    I 

>  save  you  for 
io  hopeless.    I 

►  I  never  did," 


Miff 


mmm 


The  Landlord. 


133 


"And  God  saved  me  through  one  or  two 
humble  women  and  this  poor  child.  Are  you 
willing,  sir,  to  tell  me  what  prompted  you  to 
send  for  me  and  trust  me  with  business  before 
I  was  hardly  out  of  the  slough  where  I  had  lam 
chained  for  years  ? " 

"  Certainly.  As  I  told  you,  my  heart  had 
often  ached  for  the  honor  of  my  friend,  and  I 
desired  to  lift  you  up,  but  did  not  know  how 

to  begin. 

"One  night  this  Kitty  McCosh  came  here 

again  to  tell  me  the  success  of  her  efforts  — 

how  many  bushels  of  oyster-shells  and  other 

trash,  and  how  many  dead  kittens  she  had 

scraped  up  and  carried  off  after  the  loose  work 

of  the  tenants,  and  how  that  miserable  fellow 

who  sold  liquor  in  the  cellar  of  No.  3  had 

moved  for  want  of  customers.    She  sat  here 

as  much  at  her  ease  as  if  she  were  my  daugh- 

ter,  neither  surprised  nor  dazzled  by  anythmg 

she  saw  here.  ^ 

"Aftef  a  few  moments  she  said,  'Hasnt 
there  been  half-miracles  in  Guptil  Alley,  sir?* 
I  said,  'Yes,  my  chUd,  there  have,  most  cer- 
tainly.' ':':■""':'"''* 


,ii 
',1 


134 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


"  Then  she  said,  '  and,  sir,  there 's  going  to 
be  a  who/e  miracle  soon  —  like  healin'  the 
withered  hand,  bringin'  a  mad  body  to  his  right 
luind,  or  raisin'  the  widow  o'  Nain's  sun.  I 
suppose  ye've  read  o'  'em  in  the  Bible,  sir? 
Would  ye  like  a  hand  in  the  great  work  the 
Lord  is  doin'  among  us  ? ' 

"The  child  startled  me  1  I  asked  her  what 
she  meant,  and  she  said, '  Why,  sir,  the  Lord 
has  come  and  is  goin'  to  save  Mr.  Joy,  the 
poor,  dear  lawyer !  Mother  West  has  taken 
him  by  the  hand  and  carried  him  to  Jesus  to 
be  put  in  his  right  mind  ;  and  He  '11  do  it ;  for 
He  does  everything  she  asks  Him  to  do.  We 
must  all  strive  for  a  share  o'  the  blessin' ;  but 
I  'm  so  young  and  so  poor  that  I  can  do  naught 
but  pray  for  him,  and  plead  with  ye,  sir.  Ye've 
always  spoke  so  pleasant  to  me  that  I  thought 
I  'd  like  to  give  ye  a  share  in  the  blessin'.  It 
would  be  such  an  honor  from  God,  ye  know,  to 
help  Mother  West.'  I  declare  to  you,  Joy,  I 
did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry ;  so  I 
did  a  little  of  both,  and  asked,  '  How  can  I 
help  her,  child } ' 

« '  I  '11  tell  you,'  she  said.    '  You  know  the 


»mi  iiM'iiWMM»iA*U<«iwi»****ti<i'iJii>lMlt 


-U^ 


■M 


rs. 

|e's  going  to 
healin'  the 
to  his  right 

[ain's  son.  I 
Bible,  sir? 

eat  work  the 

Led  her  what 

sir,  the  Lord 

Mr.  Joy,  the 

St   has  taken 

1  to  Jesus  to 

e  '11  do  it ;  for 

n  to  do.    We 

blessin';  but 

:an  do  naught 

re,  sir.    Ye've 

hat  I  thought 

;  blessin'.    It 

I,  ye  know,  to 

>  you,  Joy,  I 

or  cry ;  so  I 

'  How  can  I 

ou  know  the 


Tkt  Landlord. 


m 


surest  way  to  keep  Satan  off  is  to  be  ever 
busy.  Now,  beside  needin'  a  way  to  earn  his 
bread,  dear  Mr.  Joy  must  have  work  o'  some 
kind  for  this  end.  You  have  just  stores  o' 
riches,  and  heaps  o'  business.  As  your  agent 
is  goin'  to  other  work,  I  thought  perhaps  Mr. 
Joy  could  collect  your  rents  and  look  after  us 
all  —  that  we  do  right.  Indeed,  sir,  we'd  all 
try  so  hard  to  do  right,  and  to  help  him,  that 
ye  'd  have  forty  agents,  while  only  payin'  one, 
and  ye  'd  have  a  blessin'  yerself ;  and  who  can 
tell  but  ye  would  be  converted  —  though  ye  be 
so  rich  and  fine  ! ' 

"  Joy,  I  actually  felt  as  if  I  had  been  left  out 
when  all  my  poor  tenants  were  receiving  such 
blessings  ;  and  as  I  looked  in  that  child's  face, 
I  saw  that  she  pitied  me  !  I  felt  that  I  wanted 
what  she  called  the  '  blessin','  so  I  sent  for  you, 
and  the  result  is,  that  to-day  you  have  most  of 
my  affairs  in  your  hands,  and  that  I  am  per- 
fectly  satisfied  with  you  —  if  not  with  myself," 
said  the  gentleman. 

"  Why  not  with  yourself,  sir  ? "  asked  Joy, 
modestly. 

"Oh,  Joy,  I  can't  feel  that  I.  have  ever  re- 


II  IP —w^— ■>■>■«■— 


wr 


»; 


136 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors, 


ceived  '  the  blessing '  that  poor  child  half  prom- 
ised me.  As  for  this  world,  I  am  rich  :  and  I 
know  I  am  not  covetous.  But  still  the  cares 
of  riches  crush  my  spirit,  and  make  me  rest- 
less and  uneasy.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  rise 
above  this."  .      .  y    ,, 

"  Get  rid  of  some  of  your  money,  dear  sir," 
said  Mr.  Joy.  "  I  could  show  you  a  woman  in 
one  of  your  tenement  houses,  whose  whole 
property  is  not  worth  a  hundred  dollars,  and 
who  is  yet  happier  than  a  queen.  Oh,  the 
brightness  of  the  crown  that  is  awaiting  hert 
The  richest  woman  might  envy  her.  She  has 
the  world  and  its  ^  'ies  under  her  feet,  and 
lives  in  ii  region  o  e  almost  as  serene  as 

that  she  is  looking  for  beyond.  And  yet  she 
enjoys  the  beautiful  things  of  earth  as  much, 
and  indeed,  far  more,  than  do  many  whose  only 
portion  is  here.  The  simplest  flower  is  a  de- 
light to  her;  and  she  s|)ends  her  leisure  in 
training  such  as  she  can  buy  at  the  stalls, 
around  her  window,  and  over  her  few  little  pict- 
ures. Those  flowers  are  in  such  contrast  with 
their  poor  surroundings  that  they  seem  to  me 
the  most  beautiful  I  have  ever  seen.  One 
never  sees  her  poverty." 


7fV. 

!Id  half  prom- 
rich  :  and  I 
[till  the  cares 
lake  me  rest- 
how  to  rise 

ley,  dear  sir," 
I  a  woman  in 
whose  whole 
I  dollars,  and 
sen.  Oh,  the 
awaiting  her  I 
ler.  She  has 
her  feet,  and 

as  serene  as 
And  yet  she 
irth  as  much, 
ly  whose  only 
lower  is  a  de- 
ler  leisure  in 
at  the  stalls, 
ew  little  pict- 
contrast  with 
/  seem  to  me 

seen.    One 


T/u  Landlord. 


137 


"  That  woman  is  indeed  a  '  miracle-worker,' " 
said  the  landlord.  "  She  turns  sinners  into 
saints,  changes  the  abodes  of  vice  and  sorrow 
into  homes  of  the  virtuous  poor,  and  transforms 
her  own  poverty  into  true  riches.  I  have  often 
thought  of  going  to  her  room,  but  feared  lest 
she  might  think  I  came  only  as  a  patron.  She 
has  never  asked  any  favor  of  me,  and  I  should 
not  like  to  appear  as  if  offering  any  ;  and  yet 
I  want  greatly  to  see  her  and  learn  the  secret 
of  her  peace. " 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  sir,  if  you  wish,"  re- 
plied Joy.  "You  need  offer  her  no  personal 
favor;  but  you  can  gi  c  her  something,  if  you 
please,  for  poor  Tommy  and  her  other  pen- 
sioners." 

"Does  that  black  dwarf  pay  his  rent?" 
asked  the  landlord.       ^  .  .>      ,1       v?aj 

"  Yes,  sir,  by  the  help  of  his  neighbors.  I 
took  him  out  of  the  cellar  and  placed  him  in 
an  attic.  His  rheumatism  gave  way  at  once  ; 
and  I  think  he  will  soon  be  at  his  little  jobs 
again,"  said  Mr.  Joy. 

"  Do  you  think  the  fellow  is  really  able  to 
earn  a  living,  Joy  ? "  asked  the  landlord. 


tmm 


138 


Mother  Wesis  Neighbors. 


rr 


I: 


t 


^ 


-  r 


"  Hardly,  sir.  Both  he  and  the  shoe-string 
peddler  work  far  beyond  their  strength.  They 
say  if  it  were  not  for  their  rent  they  could  get 
on  very  well.  They  put  the  first  of  their  earn- 
ings away  for  that;  and  then  get  food  and 
clothes  if  they  can,"  replied  Mr.  Joy. 

"  Who  took  care  of  them  when  they  were 
ill?" 

"  Mrs.  West  and  her  daughter,  and  two  or 
three  other  poor  women  agreed  to  i  lake  their 
gruel  and  broth,  and  Kitty  McCosh  went  in 
every  day  and  made  their  beds  and  '  tidied  up 
their  rooms,'  with  her  button-bag  jingling  be- 
fore her;  bustling  about  and  singing  till  they 
quite  forgot  their  pains  in  their  delight  at  her 
kindness.''      a  1  f 

"Joy,  that  one  penniless  child  has  done 
more  for  the  world  than  I  with  all  my  wealth 
have  done.  Come,  let  us  go  and  see  how  to 
get  rid  of  this  weight  of  care  that  Is  keeping 
down  my  spirits  and  clogging  my  feet.  We  '11 
make  the  case  of  these  two  old  men  our  osten- 
sible errand,  and  hear  what  this  saint  has  to 
say."        ■  ■'-"  - --^-^'' 

During  the  visit  of  the  landlord  to  his  ten- 


iors. 

he  shoe-string 
rength.  They 
they  could  get 
of  their  eam- 
get  food  and 
Joy. 
len  they  were 

5r,  and  two  or 
to  1  lake  their 
:Cosh  went  in 
and  '  tidied  up 
Lg  jingling  be- 
iging  till  they 
delight  at  her 

iiild  has  done 
all  my  wealth 
id  see  how  to 
aat  is  keeping 
yfeet.  We'll 
nen  our  osten- 
3  saint  has  to 

rd  to  his  ten- 


^-  Tke  Landlord. 


•t^ 


ant,  there  was  no  affectation  of  condescension 
on  one  side,  nor  of  spiritual  superiority  on  the 
other.  The  two  conversed  on  topics  of  gen- 
eral interest ;  then  about  the  tenants  in  the 
alley,  their  present  wants,  and  their  recent  im- 
provement. This  last  subject  led  the  landlord 
to  remark  :/"  I  have  other  property  where  my 
tenants  are  too  much  as  these  were  before  this 
great  change  came  over  them.  How  can  I 
bring  about  the  same  results  for  them  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  you  can  do,  personally, 
further  than  to  repair  their  homes,  and  deal 
kindly  with  them,"  was  the  reply. 

"  How  have  you,  who  could  not  do  even  this, 
accomplished  so  much  for  the  people  here  ? " 
asked  the  landlord. 

"I  have  been  one  among  them;  I  have 
loved  them,  and  done  all  that  this  love 
prompted.  A  mother  could  hardly  tell  you  in 
a  word  how  she  brought  up  her  children  to 
virtue  and  usefulness.  She  loves  them,  and 
every  act  and  word  of  hers  goes  to  make  up 
the  influence  that  moulds  their  character,"  re- 
plied Mother  West. 

"  Does  this  mighty  change  come  over  every- 


IM  <tl 


140 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


body  you  love  and  labor  for  ? "  asked  the  old 
gentleman,  respectfully. 

"  It  would  be  great  presumption  in  me  to 
say  so  ;  and  yet  I  must  magnify  the  faithful- 
ness of  a  covenant-keeping  God,  by  telling  you 
that  He  has  given  me  the  desire  of  my  heart 
in  almost  every  instance  here.  I  truly  believe 
that  with  all  my  frailties  and  sins,  I  am  one  of 
those  who  fear  God,  and  He  tells  us  that  His 
secret  is  with  such.  I  never  doubt  His  promise 
when  I  see  work  to  be  done  for  Him,  and  for 
some  erring  child  of  His.  When  I  see  the 
work,  I  almost  see  its  accomplishment ;  and 
so  I  work  on  in  trust,"  replied  Mother  West. 

"I  hope  you  realize  that  the  poor  and  de- 
graded are  not  the  only  ones  who  have  a  claim 
on  those  whose  prayers  are  heard,"  said  the 
landlord. 

"  They  are  too  often  the  only  ones  bumble 
enough  to  feel  the  need  of  God's  pity  and 
mercy,  sir,"  replied  the  good  woman.  "  The 
old  illustration  of  the  camel  and  the  needle's 
eye  has  lost  none  of  its  force.  The  rich  have 
great  odds  against  them  in  the  matter  of  sal- 
vation, sir  ;  the  '  whole  need  not  a  physician, 
but  they  that  are  sick.' " 


^^ 


ors. 

asked  the  old 

ion  in  me  to 
y  the  faithful- 
by  telling  you 
e  of  my  heart 
[  truly  believe 
},  I  am  one  of 
Is  us  that  His 
»t  His  promise 

Him,  and  for 
en  I  see  the 
ishment ;  and 
)ther  West. 

poor  and  de- 
>  have  9  claim 
ard,"  said  the 

■  ones  humble 
od's  pity  and 
Oman,  "  The 
I  the  needle's 
rhe  rich  have 
matter  of  sal- 
t  a  physician, 


The  Landlord. 


141 


There  was  silence  for  a  moment.    The  rich 
man  was  not  quite  humble  enough  to  say  to 
that  poor  woman,  "  I  am  sick,  and  poor,  and 
in  need  of  your  pity  and  your  prayers."    He 
turned  for  relief  to  what  he  could  do  for  him- 
self ;  and  said,  "Mrs.  West,  my  friend,  Mr. 
Joy,  tells  me  how  needy  those  two  old  pen- 
sioners  of  yours  are ;  and   I  came  to  say  to 
you  that  they  shall  never  be  pressed  for  their 
rent    Mr.  Joy  may  give   you  six  receipted 
bills,  for  a  month's  rent,  each,  to  be  used  at 
your  discretion.     If  they  are  able,  let  them 
pay  their  rent ;  but  when  they  have  been  ill  or 
unfortunate  in  their  work,  give  them  a  receipt 
Do  you  know  any  one  else  who  needs  the  same 
favor  occasionally?"  he  asked,  sincerely  hop- 
ing she  would  put  in  her  own  claim. 

«  No,  sir,  I  do  not.  The  people  are  all  poor, 
but  they  have  work  and  can  get  on  when  well. 
I  believe  the  worst  thing  we  can  do  for  one 
not  really  in  want  is  to  encourage  a  spirit  of 
dependence.  Should  any  such  case  occur,  I 
will  let  you  know  it,  and  feel  very  grateful  to 
you  for  any  help  you  may  give." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  West,"  replied  the  land- 


iT'l   IKlMiWllli 


142  Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 

lord  rising  to  go ;  then  breaking  off  a  large 
leaf  from  a  thrifty  rose  geranium  on  the  win- 
dow-sill, he  asked,  "  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you,  personally  ? " 

"  I  think  of  nothing  now,,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  thank  you  very  much  for  this  call  and  for 
your  interest  in  my  poor  neighbors.  Can  I 
do  anything  for  you,  sir  ? " 

The  calm  assurance  and  the  tender  tone  of 
the  poor  woman  startled  the  rich  man,  and 
threw  him  off  his  guard.  "  Yes,  madam,"  he 
replied,  "  do  for  me  just  what  you  have  done 
for  these  poor  people ;  love  me,  pity  me,  and 
do  all  for  me  that  love  and  pity  prompt.  Good- 
night. Mr.  Joy  will  tell  you  to-morrow  what  I 
have  sadd  about  a  place  for  your  schools  and 
your  meetings." 

The  landlord  and  his  business-man  walked 
on  in  silence  till  they  came  to  the  house  of 
the  former,  where  they  parted  with  only  a 
"  Good-night."  Each  was  buried  in  his  own 
thoughts. 


r-sv-. 


•■^npwiwppppiHi 


off  a  large 
on  the  win- 
anything  for 

was  the  reply, 
is  call  and  for 
bors.     Can   I 

ender  tone  of 
'ich  man,  and 
;,  madam,"  he 
ou  have  done 
pity  me,  and 
ompt.  Good- 
tiorrow  what  I 
ir  schools  and 

s-man  walked 
the  house  of  . 
with  only  a 

d  in  his  own 


m- 


Sfc;: 


^v) 


**. 


XIII. 


TAKING  CARE  OF   THEMSELVES. 

T^HE  great  object  of  Christian  charity,  after 
■*■  relieving  present  absolute  want,  is  to 
teach  people  to  take  care  of  themselves;  and 
whoever  fails  in  this,  no  matter  how  great  hii 
sacrifices  or  how  princely  his  gifts,  does  a 
wrong,  not  only  to  the  recipient,  but  also  to 
society  at  large. 

This  was  the  principle  on  which  Mother 
West  wrought  in  her  humble  way,  and  although 
she  had  neither  silver  nor  gold  to  bestow,  her 
record  will  shine  like  the  sun  when  that  of 
many  a  "princely  donor"  shall  have  faded 
utterly  away. 

Passing  through  the  heart  of  the  city  where 
this  good  woman  pursued  her  modest  work, 
you  will  come  upon  a  park  surrounded  by  fine 
dwellings  whose  owners  still  cling  to  them,  al- 
though the  fashionable  rich  have  long  ago  fled 
to  the  new  parts  of  the  city,  set  up  shining 


144 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


coaches  and  shinier  coachmen,  and  draped 
themselves  with  laces  and  hung  out  diamonds, 
as  signs  of  their  wealth.  Behind  one  of  these 
blocks  is  an  alley  occupied  by  a  tidy  and  gen- 
erally prosperous  class  of  laboring  people  who 
in  no  way  annoy  or  incommode  their  genteel 
neighbors.  At  the  head  of  this  place,  —  once 
Guptil  Alley,  —  and  plainly  seen  from  the  pub- 
lic street,  stands  a  house  whose  lower  floor  is  a 
chapel.  Over  the  door  is  an  iron  arch  support- 
ing a  large  lamp,  on  the  front  pane  of  which 
may  be  seen,  in  gilt  letters,  the  words  "  Mission 
at  our  Door." 

For  the  name  of  the  place  we  may  thank 
Miss  Sibyl  Thome.  For  the  seed  sown  in 
prayer  and  faith  and  deep  sacrifice,  and  for 
the  fair  harvest  it  has  yielded,  we  must  thank 
Mother  West 

Ask  the  poor  cripple  who  takes  care  of  the 
chapel  and  who  loves  the  very  dust  on  its  walls, 
about  the  work  there,  and  he  will  reply,  as  he 
has  to  others,  with  a  smile  of  gratitude  on  his 
weather-beaten  face,  "  I  'U  tell  ye,  sir,  this  place 
be  a  miracle,  a  grace  and  mercy.  Ten  year 
ago  I  lived  at  number  six  alone,  cookin'  my  bit 


<Vs 


irs. 

and  draped 
out  diamonds, 

one  of  these 
tidy  and  gen- 
g  people  who 

their  genteel 
place,  —  once 
from  the  pub- 
ower  floor  is  a 
1  arch  support- 
>ane  of  which 
ords  "  Mission 

ire  may  thank 
seed  sown  in 
rifice,  and  for 
re  must  thank 

ces  care  of  the 
ist  on  its  walls, 
ill  reply,  as  he 
ratitude  on  his 
;,  sir,  this  place 
cy.  Ten  year 
cookin'  my  bit 


ck 


Taking  care  of  Themselves. 


145 


o'  food  and  eatin'  it  as  thoughtless  o'  God  as 
the  dog  that  eat  my  crumbs.  I  mended  my 
own  poor  clothes  by  night,  and  by  day  stood  on 
a  street  corner  sellin'  shoe-strings  to  passers-by. 
I  thought  there  was  neither  man  nor  woman  in 
all  the  wide  world  as  cared  whether  I  lost  my 
soul  or  no.  But  the  Lord  have  His  eye  on  me 
all  the  time,  and  He  send  this  blessed  woman 
as  we  calls  Mother  West  to  me ;  and  from  the 
hour  she  took  me  by  the  hand  my  clouds  all 
fled  away  and  I  come  out  into  such  sunlight  as 
you  never  beheld  I  Since  that  there  have  never 
been  a  cloud  nor  a  nightfall  for  me  nor  for 
scores  more  like  me  ;  and  now  we  're  a  'appy 
flock  o'  neighbors. 

"  After  that,  sir,  a  fine  lady  took  'old  o'  us 
and  was  goin'  to  —  well,  sir,  I  don't  just  know 
what  she  was  goin'  to  do  with  us,  and  I  doubt 
me  if  she  knew  herself !  But  she  talked  to  the 
poor  honest  things  here  as  if  they  were  all  pick- 
pockets and  villyans ;  whereas  quite  a  many  o' 
'em  were  poor,  heart-broken  dears,  toilin'  day 
and  night  to  keep  their  children  off  the  city  and 
out  o'  the  way  o'  sin  —  for,  sir,  a  body  may  be 
starvin'  poor  and  yet  not  be  villainous  1    She 


10 


mimililiUUittm- 


146 


Mother  Wests  Neighbors. 


grew  weary,  and  our  dear  mother  took  the 
work.  When  the  great  day  come,  sir,  there  '11 
be  both  high  and  low  in  the  vast  crowd  that  '11 
strive  hard  to  get  a  hold  o'  one  comer  o'  Mother 
West's  mantle  —  not  a  poor  faded  black  thing 
such  as  she  wear  now,  but  one  as  shall  shine  as 
the  light  —  white,  like  the  righteousness  of  the 
saints." 

And  if  you  ask  him  who  now  keeps  up  this 
work,  be  will  reply  :  — 

"  It 's  well,  sir,  we  all  put  a  'and  to  it ;  but 
the  Lord  He  stand  at  the  'elm  and  guide  the 
bark,  and  get  all  the  glory  to  'imself.  I  tell  ye, 
sir,  when  the  grand  and  lofty  comes  to  the 
Lord,  they  halways  'ang  on  to  the  notion  a  bit 
that  the  Lord  do  be  under  some  hobligation  to 
them  for  their  condescension ;  but  when  them 
comes  that 's  so  far  down  as  they  can't  get  no 
lower,  and  has  nothin'  but  sin  and  weakness  to 
ho£Eer  Him,  they  lays  low  and  leans  on  'im 
alone  and  don't  hoffer  'im  no  compliments.  We 
has  one  gentleman  as  sort  of  leads  ho£E,  but  'e's 
the  'umblest  of  us  hall  —  Mr.  Joy,  a  lawyer. 
He  was  once  forsook  of  all  men — even  of  his- 
self.    I  need  n't  bring  up  ould  scores  ag'in  when 


irs. 

her  took  the 
e,  sir,  there  '11 
crowd  that  '11 
■ner  o'  Mother 
d  black  thing 
shall  shine  as 
)usness  of  the 

keeps  up  this 

ind  to  it ;  but 
and  guide  the 
iself.  I  tell  ye, 
comes  to  the 
le  notion  a  bit 
hobligation  to 
mt  when  them 
;y  can't  get  no 
id  weakness  to 
.  leans  on  'im 
npliments.  We 
Is  hofiE,  but  'e's 
Joy,  a  lawyer. 
— even  of  his- 
)res  ag'in  when 


Taking  care  of  Themselves. 


H7 


the  Lord  'ave  blotted  them  all  out.  He  are 
our  leader  in  all  that  are  good  ;  but  he  hold  his 
'ead  very  low  and  walk  softly  before  the  Lord." 

If  you  ask  who  supports  the  place,  he  will 
say,  reverently,  — 

"  The  Lord  do  it,  sir,  and  in  'is  love  He  lets 
us  'elp  'im  a  bit.  The  dear  lan'lord  do  give  us 
this  place  free  o'  rent ;  and  the  servants  o'  the 
Lord  do  come  one  and  another  of  a  Sabbath 
and  speak  words  o'  comfort  and  instruction  to 
us.  Then  we  'ave  'elpers  as  the  Lord  'as  given 
us,  with  money.  Mr.  Lincoln's  family,  mostly 
yon  lovely  Miss  Mary  ;  and  a  fine  young  gen- 
tleman of  a  cousin ;  and  a  dear  lady,  Miss 
Thome,  and  another  Miss  Bell ;  and  they  come 
'ere  and  teach  us  of  a  Sunday  out  o'  the  gospel 
But,  sir,  if  ye  '11  no  take  it  for  consate,  I  '11  say 
that  there  be  among  ourselves  many  as  the 
Lord  honors.  There  be  one  poor  black  fellow 
we  calls  '  Brother  Tommy,'  that  labor  more  for 
the  poor  and  their  Master  than  do  a  dozen  com- 
mon Christians.  And  hand  in  hand  with 
Mother  West  is  a  maid  they  call  Kitty  McCosh, 
who  has  such  a  winning-like  way  that  she  seem 
to  'ave  the  purse-strings  o'  the  rith  in  her  fin- 


148  Mother  West's  Neighbors. 

gers  !  And  she  labor  and  bear  other  people's 
burdens  and  keep  folk  at  peace  and  at  work  in 
a  way  that  are  marvelous !  We  just  puts  hand 
in  hand  and  shoulder  to  shoulder  and  'elps 
each  other,  and  it's  just  wonderful  'ow  that 
lightens  loads  all  round  !  Hif  Brother  Tommy 
are  ill,  I  does  'is  work  ;  hif  I  am  lower  than 
common,  'e  starts  hoff  with  the  shoe-strings. 
Hif  one  of  us  is  hout  o'  f  oal  the  others  are  not ; 
and  sometimes  I  fancy  that  we  are  much  like 
the  'postolic  church  of  hold,  we  'as  hall  things 
in  common. 

"  My  experience  in  good  things  are  small, 

but  I  see  plain  that  there  be  ways  o'  doin'  good 

that  bring  evils  with  'em.     It 's  better  to  cure  a 

cripple  than  to  carry  him,  or  to  cut  his  legs  o£f 

and  make  'im  still  more  a  cripple.    There  be 

.hunfortunate  folk,  who,  hif  ye  feed  'em  once 

will  sit  starin'  at  ye  with  their  mouth  open  the 

rest  o'  their  life,  waitin'  to  be  fed  forever.   And 

there  they  will  sit  till  they  gets  the  palsy  o' 

laziness  fast  on  'em,  and  be  a  curse  to  their- 

selves  and  the  community,  —  for  the  folk  as 

■  eats  up  other  folk  are  the  most  'opeless  class  on 

God's  earth!    We  in  this  neighborhood  'ave 


I 


r 


ther  people's 
id  at  work  in 
ist  puts  hand 
ler  and  'elps 
ful  'ow  that 
(ther  Tommy 
n  lower  than 
shoe-strings, 
hers  are  not ; 
ire  much  like 
is  hall  things 

gs  are  small, 
o'  doin*  good 
etter  to  cure  a 
ut  his  legs  o£f 
le.  There  be 
eed  'em  once 
3uth  open  the 
forever.  And 
the  palsy  o' 
urse  to  their- 
r  the  folk  as 
seless  class  on 
liborhood  'ave 


Taking  care  of  Themselves.  149 

•ad  'elp  enough  to  ruin  us,  only  for  the  wisdom 
o'  our  Mother  West,  as  put  us  on  our  honor 
and  bid  us  refuse  a  copper  we  could  do  without, 
either  for  ourselves  or  our  mission !  That  it 
'elps  us  to  keep  our  self-respect  and  not  to  go 
whinin'  about  like  born  beggars.  It  would  just 
surprise  ye  to  see  'ow  respectful  these  'elpers  be 
to  the  poorest  o'  us !  They  sees  that  we  strive 
to  bear  our  hown  burdens,  and  so  they  take 
hold  o'  a  comer  of  'em  and  give  us  a  lift  very 
cheerful.  ^ 

"  There 's  a  screw  loose  in  the  charity  o'  fine 
folk  in  general.  They  are  too  hapt  to  take  up 
the  poor  bodily  and  carry  'em  till  they've  lost 
the  useo'  their  limbs  (or  what's  the  same,  the 
will  to  work),  and  then  they  drop  them  sud- 
dent  to  the  ground  and  are  surprised  because 
they  are  worse  off  than  they  were  afore  ! " 

The  questions  involved  in  the  subject  of 
charity  are  many  and  intricate.  Perhaps  we 
may  learn  something  from  these  humble  creat- 
ures in  "  Mission  Place,"  who,  had  they  simply 
been  fed  and  clothed  by  Miss  Sibyl  Thome's 
patronage,  would  stiU  have  been  the  denizens 


,wJM«ihntw>iiiKWTjiii*»t>"" 


tiil^lllliiaf 


150  Mothtr  Wests  Neighbors. 

of  "Guptil    Alley,"  as  they  were   before  its 
name  and  character  were  changed. 

It  may  be  wise  in  some  of  us  who  are  work- 
ing in  this  broad  field  to  go  to  Mother  West, 
Kitty  McCosh,  "Beautiful  Tommy,"  and  the 
shoe-string  peddler  for  instruction. 


■s. 

i  before  its 

ho  are  work- 
[other  West, 
ly,"   and  the 


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